Alternate Ending to the Inheritance Cycle
by Gimli'sBox
Summary: How I thought the Inheritance Cycle should have ended.  I tried my best to make it reasonable and professional.  Rated T just to be safe but, it's no higher than anything CP wrote.
1. It Is Done

**Author's Note: Like many people, I didn't like the ending of the Inheritance Cycle so, I tweaked the last nine chapters and added three more. Although the first nine chapters are similar, I did change some things. I would be extremely grateful for honest and helpful criticism as I wish to improve my writing. If you have anything for me, please share! Obviously, I don't own anything related to the Inheritance Cycle. **

Darkness, and in that darkness, silence.

Nasuada opened her eyes. She could breathe, but the air was stale and lifeless. Suddenly she felt Eragon's mind brush against her's before the touch vanished as quickly as it had come. She was not dead then. Seconds passed.

Without warning, light flooded her eyes, and an onslaught of noise assailed her ears.

She winced and blinked while her eyes adjusted.

Around her, Nasuada saw Elva and Murtagh laying on the floor and looked only to be unconscious. Saphira, Thorn, Arya and Eragon where standing, and although seemed ruffled, they didn't appear mortally wounded. Beside Arya were the two children Galbatorix had used to threaten Eragon and the Eldunari.

Through the smoke- filled air, Nasuada saw a huge glowing crater where Galbatorix had been standing. The incandescent stone pulsed like living flesh as breaths of air wafted over its surface. The ceiling glowed as well; it was as if they were standing inside a giant crucible.

The air smelled like the taste of iron.

The walls of the room were cracked, and the pillars, carvings, and lanterns had been pulverized. At the back of the chamber lay Shruikan's corpse, much of the flesh stripped from his soot- blackened bones. At the front, the explosion had shattered the stone walls, as well as the walls beyond for hundreds of feet, exposing a veritable warren of tunnels and rooms. Nasuada thought she glimpsed daylight at the far end of the quarter-mile-long hallway that she guessed led to the outside.

A piece of stone the size of a house fell from the ceiling and landed next to Shruikan's skull, where it split into a dozen pieces. Around them, more cracks spread through the walls, ominous shrieks and groans sounding from every side.

Nasuada saw Arya go up to the two children, grab the boy around his waist, and climb onto Saphira's back. Once there, she pointed at the girl and said to Eragon, "Throw her to me!"

After sheathing Brisingr he picked the girl up and tossed her to Arya, who caught her in outstretched arms.

He then turned and sidestepped Elva as he hurried toward where Nasuada stood, chained to the block of cold grey stone. "Jierda!" he said, placing a hand on the manacles that held her wrists but the spell had no apparent effect.

Trying to get his attention, Nasuada began to make noises into the knotted cloth that bound her mouth shut. Noticing, Eragon pulled it out of her mouth. "You have to find the key!" she said. "Galbatorix's jailer has it on him."

"We'll never find him in time!" Eragon drew Brisingr and swung at the chain connected to the manacle around her left hand. She felt it bounce off the links and impact pulled on her arm but, otherwise it left not a single mark on the chain. He swung a second time, but the chain was impervious to his blade.

Another piece of rock fell from the ceiling and struck the floor with a loud _crack._

Murtagh's hand grasped Eragon's. The other arm he pressed against the wound in his stomach.

"Move aside," he growled. Eragon did, and Murtagh spoke the name of all names, as he had done before, as well as _jierda_, and the iron cuffs opened and fell from her limbs.

The burst of freedom she felt consumed every part of her being. Never again would she ever have to put the manacles on again. Never.

Murtagh took her by the wrist, and began to lead her toward Thorn. After his first step, she slipped under his arm and allowed him to lean his weight on her shoulders. He gave her a thankful glance.

"Wait!" cried Arya, and she leaped down from Saphira and ran over to Murtagh. "Where is the egg? And the Eldunari? We can't leave them!"

Furrowing his brow, Murtagh looked at Arya as if concentrating on something. Nasuada guessed he was giving Arya his memories of where they were for a few seconds later Arya spun around, her burnt hair flying, and sprinted toward a doorway on the opposite side of the room.

"It's too dangerous!" Eragon shouted after her. "This place is falling apart! Arya!"

"Go," she said. "Get the children to safety. Go! You haven't much time!"

Eragon cursed. Sliding Brisingr back into its scabbard, he bent and picked up Elva, who was just beginning to stir.

"What's happening?" she asked as Eragon carried her up onto Saphira's back behind the two other children.

"We're leaving," he said. "Hold on."

With Murtagh's weight still on her shoulder Nasuada continued toward Thorn. Flying on a dragon was one of the last things she had expected to do in her life time, yet here she was. Her wounds from her imprisonment didn't necessarily pain her as Murtagh's spell blocked it but, there was a shadow over her body that she knew would only be lifted once they were truly healed.

Once they reached Thorn, Nasuada helped Murtagh into the saddle. Then he reached down to pull her up.

"Wait," she whispered. "I'll grab Zar'roc." She had seen it some feet away from Thorn while she had given the room one last look. Murtagh nodded. It took her only a moment to fetch it and hand it up to him before he pulled her up. She settled in behind him as she wrapped her arms around his upper body.

Saphira had already started moving. Limping because of her wounded foreleg, she trotted around the crater. Thorn followed close behind, his broken wing dragging against the ground.

"Look out!" shouted Eragon as a chunk of the glowing ceiling broke loose directly over Saphira.

Nasuada watched over Murtagh's shoulder as Saphira shied to her left, and the jagged piece of stone landed next to her and sent a burst of straw- yellow shards in every direction. A small chunk bounced off of Thorn's gleaming red scales before rolling of harmlessly. More pieces of stone fell elsewhere in the chamber.

When Saphira arrived at the mouth of the hallway, Eragon twisted and looked back at Murtagh. She heard him shout "What of the traps?"

Murtagh shook his head and Nasuada felt his body move as he raised his hand and waved for them to continue.

Piles of broken stone covered the floor along much of the hallway, which slowed the dragons. To either side, Nasuada could see into the rubble- filled rooms and tunnels that the explosion had torn open. Within them, tables, chairs, and other pieces of furniture burned. The limbs of the dead and dying stuck out at odd angles from beneath the tumbled stones, occasionally a grimy face or the back of a head.

She could hear Murtagh's ragged breathing as he fought the pain in his stomach.

Farther down the hallway, hundreds of people- soldiers and servants alike- poured out of the adjoining doorways and ran toward the now- gaping entrance. Broken limbs where common among them, as were burns, scrapes, and other wounds. The survivors moved aside for Saphira and Thorn, but otherwise ignored the dragons.

Saphira was nearly at the end of the hall when a thunderous crash sounded behind them, and Nasuada looked back to see that the throne room had caved in on itself, burying the chamber floor under a pile of stone fifty feet thick. When she looked back at Eragon she could see an expression on his face that mirrored what she felt.

As Thorn emerged from the citadel, the air cleared and Nasuada was able to see the destruction the blast had wreaked on Uru'baen. It had ripped off the slate roofs of many nearby buildings and set fire to the beams underneath. Scores of fires dotted the rest of the city. The plumes of smoke drifted upward until they collided with the underside of the shelf above. There they pooled and flowed along the angled surface of the stone, like water over a stream bed. By the southeastern edge of the city, the smoke caught the light of the morning sun as it seeped around the side of the overhang, and there the smoke glowed with the reddish- orange color of a fire opal.

The people of Uru'baen were fleeing their houses, streaming through the streets toward the hole in the outer wall. The soldiers and servants from the citadel hurried to join them, giving Saphira and Thorn a wide berth as they ran across the courtyard in front of the fortress.

Nasuada saw Eragon talking to the children as Thorn stopped and lowered himself as close to the ground as he could get. Bringing her attention to Murtagh, she helped him off the red dragon's back. As soon as his feet touched the ground he slumped against Thorn's belly and began to recite spells in the ancient language.

After a few seconds she heard Thorn's wing snap back into to place. The sound sent a shiver down her spine. Although it was nice to receive immediate relief from pain, that small moment before it actually happened was a strange experience. She could imagine what it would feel like to have flesh crawl back into place and bone fuse together.

The whole while she could sense Eragon watching them. As soon as Murtagh had healed Thorn's wing he turned his attention to his gut wound. She rested a hand on his shoulder. Once he finished the spell to heal his stomach he stood.

"May I heal your wounds before I leave?" Murtagh asked in a soft voice. Nasuada frowned and said "Yes."

Reaching out Murtagh grasped the neck of her tunic, and pulled it to the side, tearing the fabric. The air brushed against the welts, aggravating them.

"Do you want to keep the scars from the Trail of the Long Knives?" Nodding, she bowed her head. His previous question had taken her aback. She listened the warmth of his voice as he spoke in the ancient language. His touch was gentle, even hesitant, while he healed the welts. She felt the shadow begin to lift from her.

Just as he finished Nasuada heard Elva cry "Look!" and point toward the citadel where Arya, Blodhgarm, and his spellcasters walked out of the dark maw. They were bruised and scraped, but alive. In her arms, Arya carried a wooden chest fitted with gold hasps. A long line of metal boxes- each the size of the back of a wagon- floated along behind the elves, a few inches above the floor.

"The egg and Eldunari." said Murtagh. As Nasuada looked away from the elves toward him she saw a sad expression on Murtagh's face. She didn't see it long as he turned and began to unstrap medium sized saddle bags from Thorn.

"You can't leave." she said. "You have to stay."

"I would only cause problems for you. Do you think people will ever trust you if they knew you were friends with a Kingkiller?" He spat the last words, as if he hated himself for it but couldn't escape a gnawing truth.

"You had just as much of a part in killing Galbatorix as Eragon did."

He turned to her as he set the saddle bags to the ground. In a low voice he said, "No one will care about my part. They will always see me as I was. Morzan's son, someone to be hated, feared, and distrusted."

"But you aren't him anymore. And as leader of the Varden I will vouch for you. I'll explain to everyone that you were forced against your will to swear fealty to Galbatorix and how you helped me survive his tortures."

"Distrust can't be overcome that quickly."

His resistance frustrated Nasuada. She could understand why he wanted to leave. Being subjugated to Galbatorix wasn't something a person overcame easily. But, one simple fact remained. She wanted him to stay. So she tried a different approach.

"We are going to need all the help we can get to put the Empire back in order. An extra Rider would be that much more help." Suddenly Nasuada heard Saphira and Eragon walk over to where she and Murtagh were standing. They approached carefully as if they were unsure of the situation.

"Nasuada, could I talk to you for a moment." Eragon said as he gave Murtagh a side glance. She nodded and then turned to Murtagh, giving him a pleading look.

"Please stay until I'm finished talking with him." He nodded roughly as he began to tighten Thorn's saddle straps. Then Nasuada walked toward Eragon and asked "What is it?"

"I was wondering if you were okay. I haven't seen you since you were captured, and well..." He trailed off and looked back at Murtagh.

"I'm fine now. Murtagh healed my wounds. Can you convince him to stay? He won't listen to me." A surprised look came to Eragon's face but, then a look of resolution, as if he realized that he too wanted Murtagh to stay.

"I doubt he'll listen to me but, I'll try."

He stepped forward and stood beside Murtagh. Nasuada watched intently.

"You could stay." Eragon said gently. "We are grateful for your help and without you I couldn't have defended myself before Galbatorix died."

"It seems I have a habit of saving you from dangerous situations." Murtagh said as he turned to Eragon. The smallest smile was on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Saphira says the same." Eragon countered with a chuckle.

"I never thought you could do it...but I'm glad you did."

"I was lucky. And it wouldn't have been possible without your help. Will you stay?"

Murtagh looked at Eragon for a long while, a strange gleam in his eye, as he considered the question. Nasuada noticed that Eragon never shifted or averted his gaze.

Thorn brought his head down to look Eragon in the face with one glittering, blood-red eye. Breaking the silence in a surprisingly musical voice he spoke so all could hear, saying, _Thank you for not killing my Rider, Eragon-Murtagh's-brother._

Eragon smiled and said, "I'm glad I didn't have to."

Humming, Thorn bent and touched Eragon on the top of his head, tapping his scales against Eragon's helm. _May the wind and the sun always be at your back._

"And at yours," replied Eragon.

Suddenly, a sense of great anger, grief, and ambivalence pressed heavily against Nasuada as a consciousness enveloped her mind and, it seemed, those of Murtagh and Thorn, for they tensed as well, as if in anticipation of battle. Eragon was the only one who seemed to not be nervous about the mental touch. Then Nasuada realized it was Glaedr.

_Would that I could thank you for the same, _he said, his words as bitter as an oak gall. _You killed my body and you killed my Rider. _The statement was flat and simple and all the more terrible because of it.

In a sincere and sad voice Murtagh asked, "_Would you forgive me?_"

_No, I cannot, _said the gold dragon. _However, I understand that it was Galbatorix who drove you to it and that it was he who swung your arm, Murtagh...I cannot forgive, but Galbatorix is dead and with him my desire for vengeance. Yours has always been a hard path, since each of you hatched. But today you showed that your misfortunes have not broken you. You turned against Galbatorix when it might have gained you only pain, and by it you allowed Eragon to kill him. Today you and Thorn proved yourselves worthy of being considered Shur'tugal in full, though you never had the proper instruction or guidance. That is...admirable._

Murtagh bowed his head slightly, and Thorn said, _Thank you, Ebrithil._

Then another dragon spoke. Nasuada heard great wisdom in his voice. _We know much of the difficulties you have faced, Thorn and Murtagh, for we have watched you from afar, even as we have watched Eragon and Saphira. There are many things we could teach you if you stayed._

_I would be honored, master. _Replied Murtagh, his respect and awe evident. Then turning to Eragon and Nasuada he said in a quiet tone, "I will stay."

Eragon clapped him on the shoulder and Nasuada smiled widely.

"It's only right that the last two Dragon Riders should help rebuild the Empire." said Eragon happily.

Then with concern Murtagh said, "Can you remember the name of the ancient language now, or is Galbatorix's magic still clouding your mind?"

"I can _almost _remember it, but..." Eragon shook his head with frustration.

Then Murtagh spoke softly in Eragon's ear and Nasuada only heard the faintest of a whisper. Once he finished he said, "I wouldn't share it with anyone else, if every magician knew the name of the ancient language, the language would be worse than useless."

Eragon nodded and then motioned with his hand for Nasuada and Murtagh to come closer. As she did Nasuada could see great joy on his face. In a faint whisper he said, "The egg that Galbatorix had- it isn't the only one in Alagaesia. There are more, hidden in the same place where we found the Eldunari we brought with us."

Nasuada felt a jolt of surprise race through her body, and then understanding. "Eggs! Dragon eggs!" She managed to croak out in her happiness. Thorn arched his neck and uttered a joyful trumpet that scared all the people within a thousand foot radius around them. Murtagh's eyes gleamed with disbelief and excitement.

Grinning, Eragon bounced on his heels, as if delighted by their reactions. "What will you do with them?" asked Murtagh.

"Me? I think Saphira and the Eldunari will have something to say in the matter, but probably find somewhere safe for the eggs to hatch, and start rebuilding the Riders."

Starting to think of all the possibilities Nasuada asked, "Will you and Saphira train them?"

Eragon shrugged, "I'm sure the elves will help. And Murtagh as well." he said, giving Murtagh a glance at the last sentence.

Murtagh tilted his head back and released a long breath. "The dragons are going to return, and the Riders as well." He laughed softly. "The world is about to change."

"It has already changed."

"Aye. But, I'm not sure if I'm ready to teach anyone yet."

Eragon nodded, and Nasuada understood.


	2. Heir To The Empire

Eragon slowly climbed the worn steps of the green tower. It was close to sunset, and through the windows that pierced the curving wall to his right, he could see the shadow- streaked buildings of Uru'baen, as well as the hazy fields outside the city and, as he spiraled around, the dark mass of the stone hill that rose up behind it.

The tower was tall, and Eragon was tired. He wished he could have flown with Saphira to the top. It had been a long day, and right then, he wanted nothing more than to sit with Saphira and drink a cup of hot tea while watching the light fade from the sky. But, as always, there was still work to be done.

He had seen Saphira only once since Nasuada, Thorn, Murtagh and him had separated, each going on a mission of some form or another. Saphira and Thorn had spent most of the afternoon helping the Varden kill or capture the remainder of the soldiers and, later, gather into camps the families who had fled their homes and scatter across the countryside while they waited to see if the overhang would break and fall.

That it had not, the elves told Eragon and Murtagh, was because of spells they had embedded within the stone in ages past- when Uru'baen was yet known as Ilirea- and also because of the overhang's sheer size, which allowed it to weather the force of the blast without significant damage.

The hill itself had helped contain the harmful residue from the explosion, although a large amount had still escaped through the entrance to the citadel, and most everyone who had been in or around Uru'baen needed healing with magic, else they would soon sicken and die. Already many had fallen ill. Along with Murtagh and the elves, Eragon had worked to save as many as possible; the strength of the Eldunari had allowed him to cure a large portion of the Varden, as well as many inhabitants of the city.

The elves had not taken kindly to Murtagh in the beginning. It was something Eragon understood, for had he not seen with his own eyes Murtagh's part in killing Galbatorix, he himself would have been suspicious. After he had recounted a short description of what had happened in the throne room to the elves in the ancient language, detailing Murtagh's help, they put aside their objections for the moment. Not that they trusted him. Far from it. But at least they were able to work together for the time being.

At that very moment, the elves and the dwarves were walling up the front of the citadel with Murtagh to prevent any further contamination from seeping out. This after having searched the building for survivors, of whom there had been many: soldiers, servants, and hundreds of prisoners from the dungeons below. The great store of treasures that lay within the citadel, including the contents of Galbatorix's vast library, would have to be retrieved at a later date. It would be no easy task. The walls of many rooms had collapsed; countless others, though still standing, were so damaged that they posed a danger to any who ventured near. Moreover, magic would be required to fend off the poison that had permeated the air, the stone, and all of the objects within the sprawling warren of the fortress. And more magic would be required to cleanse whatever items they chose to bring out.

Once the citadel was closed off, the elves would purge the city and the land thereabouts of the harmful residue that had settled upon it so that the area would again be safe to live in. Eragon knew that he and Murtagh would have to help with that too.

Before he had joined in the effort to heal and place wards of protection around everyone in and around Uru'bean, he and Murtagh had spent over an hour using the name of the ancient language to find and dismantle the many spells Galbatorix had bound to the buildings and the people of the city. Some of the enchantments seemed benign, even helpful- such as on spell whose only apparent purpose was to keep the hinges of a door from creaking, and which drew its power from an egg- sized piece of crystal set within the face of the door- but Eragon dared not leave any of the king's spells intact, no matter how harmless they appeared. Murtagh had agreed with him strongly. Eragon paid special attention to the spells upon the men and women of Galbatorix's command. Among them, oaths of fealty were the most common, but there were also wards, enchantments to grant skills beyond the ordinary, and other, more mysterious spells.

As Eragon and Murtagh had released nobles and commoners alike from their bondage, they occasionally felt a cry of anguish, as if they had taken something precious from them.

There had been a moment of crisis when he stripped Galbatorix's strictures from the Eldunari the king had enslaved. The dragons immediately began to lash out and assail the minds of the people within the city, attacking without regard for who was friend or who was foe. In those moments, a great pall of dread spread over Uru'baen, causing everyone, even the elves, to crouch and turn white with fear.

Then Blodhgarm and his ten remaining spellcasters had tied the convoy of metal boxes that contained the Eldunari to a pair of horses and ridden out of Uru'baen, where the dragons' thoughts no longer had such a strong effect. Glaedr insisted upon accompanying the maddened dragons, as did several of the Eldunari from Vroengard. That had been the time Eragon had seen Saphira, when he amended the spell that hid Umaroth and those with him so that five of the Eldunari could be portioned out and given over to Blodhgarm's safekeeping. Glaedr and the five were of the opinion that they could calm and communicate with the dragons that Galbatorix had for so long tormented. Eragon was less sure, but he hoped they were right.

As the elves and Eldunari were on their way out of the city, Arya had contacted him, casting a questioning thought from outside the ruined gate, where she was in conference with the captains of her mother's army. In that brief time with their minds touched, he felt he desolation at Islanzadi's death, as well as regret and anger that eddied beneath her grief, and he saw how her emotions threatened to overwhelm her reason and how she struggled to restrain them. He sent her what comfort he could, but it seemed paltry when compared to her loss.

The entire day was rather confusing for Eragon. He had expected to feel jubilant if they killed Galbatorix, and though he was glad- and he _was _glad- with the king gone, he no longer knew what he was supposed to do. He had reached his goal. He had climbed the unclimbable mountain. And now, without that purpose to guide him, to drive him, he was at a loss. What were he and Saphira to make of their lives now? What would give them meaning? He knew that, in time, he and Saphira were to raise the next generation of dragons, and Riders, but the prospect seemed to distant to be real.

Pondering those questions made him feel queasy and overwhelmed. He turned his thoughts elsewhere, but the questions continued to nibble at the edges of his mind, and his sense of emptiness persisted.

It seemed as if the stairs of the green tower would never end. He trudged upward, round and round, until the people in the streets appeared as small as ants and his calves and the backs of his ankles burned from the repetitive motion. He saw the nests of swallows built within the narrow windows, and beneath one window, he found a pile of small skeletons: the leavings of a hawk or an eagle.

When at last the top of the winding staircase appeared- a large lancet door, black with age- he paused to gather his thoughts and allow his breathing to slow. Then he climbed the last few feet, lifted the latch, and pushed forward into the large round chamber atop the elven watchtower.

Waiting for him were six people, along with Saphira: Arya and the silver-haired elf lord Dathedr, King Orrin, Nasuada, King Orik, and the king of the werecats, Grimrr Halfpaw. They stood- or in the case of King Orrin, sat- in a widely spaced circle, with Saphira directly opposite the stairs, before the southern-facing window that had allowed her to land within the tower. The light from the dying sun streamed sideways through the chamber, illuminating the elven carvings upon the walls and the intricate pattern of colored stone set within the chipped floor. Except for Saphira and Grimrr, everyone appeared tense and uncomfortable. In the tightness of the skin around Arya's eyes and the hard line of her tawny throat, Eragon saw evidence of her grief and upset. He wished he could do something to ease her pain. Orrin sat in a deep-seated chair, holding his bandaged chest with his left hand and a cup of wine in his right. He moved with exaggerated care, as if afraid of hurting himself, but his eyes were bright and clear, so Eragon guessed it was his wound, and not the drink, that made him cautious. Dathedr was tapping the pommel of his sword with one finger while Orik stood with his hands folded atop the butt of Volund's haft- the hammer rested upright on the floor before him- staring into his beard. Nasuada had her arms crossed, as if she was cold. To the right, Grimrr Halfpaw stared out a window, seemingly oblivious of the others.

As Eragon opened the door, they all looked at him, and a smile broke across Orik's face. "Eragon!" he exclaimed. He hefted Volund onto his shoulder, trundled over to Eragon, and grasped him by a forearm. "I knew you could kill him! Well done! Tonight we celebrate, eh! Let the fires burn bright, and let our voices ring forth until the heavens themselves echo with the sound of our feasting."

Eragon smiled and nodded, and Orik clapped him on the arm once more, then returned to his place as Eragon crossed the room to stand by Saphira.

_Little one, _she said, brushing his shoulder with her snout.

He reached up and touched her hard, scaled cheek, taking comfort from her closeness. Then he extended a tendril of thought toward the Eldunari she still had with her. Like him, they were weary from the day's events, and he could tell they preferred to watch and listen rather than to actively participate in the discussion that was about to take place.

The Eldunari acknowledged his presence, and Umaroth said, _Eragon, _but thereafter he was silent.

No one in the room seemed willing to speak first. From the city below, Eragon heard a horse whinny. Off by the citadel came the rapping of picks and chisels. King Orrin shifted uncomfortably in his chair and sipped the wine. Grimrr scratched one pointed ear, then sniffed, as if testing the air.

Finally, Dathedr broke the silence. "We have a decision to make," he said.

"That we know, elf," rumbled Orik.

"Let him speak," said Orrin, and gestured with his jeweled goblet. "I would hear his thoughts on how he thinks we should proceed." A bitter, somewhat mocking smile appeared on his face. He tilted his head toward Dathedr, as if to grant him permission to speak.

Dathedr inclined his head in return. If the elf took offense at the king's tone, it did not show. "There is no hiding that Galbatorix is dead. Even now, word of our victory wings its way across the land. By the end of the week, Galbatorix's demise shall be known throughout the greater part of Alagaesia."

"As it should be," said Nasuada. She had changed out of the tunic her jailers had given her and into a dark red dress, which made the weight she had lost during her captivity all the more apparent, for the dress hung loosely off her shoulders and her waist was painfully small. But though she appeared frail, she seemed to have regained some of her strength. After Murtagh had decided to stay and they had dispersed to various duties, Jormundur had bundled her off to the Varden's camp where he had seen to it that Nasuada had gotten a warm meal. She had spent the rest of the day resting on Jormundur's pleadings but, not idle as she began to command the Varden once more. Eragon had been unable to consult with her before the meeting, so he was not sure of her opinion on the subject they had assembled to discuss. If he had to, he would contact her directly with his thoughts, but he hoped to avoid that, for he did not want to intrude on her privacy.

"As it should be," said Dathedr, his voice strong and clear beneath the vaulted ceiling of that high, round chamber. "However, as people learn that Galbatorix has fallen, the first question they shall ask is who has taken his place." Dathedr looked around at their faces. "We must provide them with an answer now before unrest begins to spread. Our queen is dead. King Orrin, you are wounded. Rumors aplenty are afoot, I am sure. It is important that we quell them before they cause harm. To delay would be disastrous. We cannot allow every lord with a measure of troops to believe that he can set himself up as ruler of his own petty monarchy. Should that happen, the Empire will disintegrate into a hundred different kingdoms. None of us want that. A successor must be chosen and named, however difficult that may be."

Without turning around, Grimrr said, "You cannot lead a pack if you are weak."

King Orrin smiled again, but the smile did not touch his eyes. "And what part do you seek to play in this, Arya, Lord Dathedr? Or you, King Orik? Or you, King Halfpaw? We are grateful for your friendship and your help, but this is a matter for humans to decide, not you. We rule ourselves, and we do not let others choose our kings."

Nasuada rubbed her crossed arms and, to Eragon's surprise, said, "I agree. This is something we must settle on our own." She looked across the room at Arya and Dathedr. "Surely you can understand. You would not allow us to tell you whom you ought to appoint as your new king or queen." She looked at Orik. "Nor would the clans have allowed us to select you as Hrothgar's successor."

"No," said Orik. "That they wouldn't have."

"The decision is, of course, yours to make," said Dathedr. "We would not presume to dictate what you should or should not do. However, as your friends and allies, have we not earned the right to offer our advice upon such a weighty matter, especially when it shall affect us all? Whatever you decide will have far-reaching implications, and you would do well to understand those implications ere you make your choice."

Eragon understood well enough. It was a threat. Dathedr was saying that if they made a decision the elves disapproved of, there would be unpleasant consequences. Eragon resisted the urge to scowl. The elves' stance was only to be expected. The stakes were high, and a mistake now could end up causing problems for decades more.

"That...seems reasonable," said Nasuada. She glanced over at King Orrin.

Orrin stared into his goblet as he tilted it around, swirling the liquid within. "And just _how _would you advise us to choose, Lord Dathedr? Do tell; I am most curious."

The elf paused. In the low, warm light from the setting sun, his silver hair glowed in a diffuse halo around his head. "Whoever is to wear the crown must have the skill and experience needed to rule effectively from the start. There is no time to instruct someone in the ways of command, nor can we afford the mistakes of a novice. In addition, this person must be morally fit to assume such a high office; he or she must be an acceptable choice to the warriors of the Varden and, to a lesser extent, the people of the Empire; and if at all possible, this person should also be one whom we and your other allies will find agreeable."

"You limit our choices a great deal with your requirements," said King Orrin.

"They merely make for good statesmanship. Or do you see it differently?"

"I see several options you have overlooked or disregarded, perhaps because you consider them distasteful. But no matter. Continue."

Dathedr's eyes narrowed, but his voice remained as smooth as ever. "The most obvious choice- and the one the people of the Empire will likely expect- is the person who actually killed Galbatorix. That is, Eragon."

The air in the chamber grew brittle, as if it were made of glass.

Everyone looked at Eragon, even Saphira and the werecat, and he could feel Umaroth and the other Eldunari observing him closely too. He stared back at the people around him, neither frightened nor angered by their scrutiny. He searched Nasuada's face for a hint as to her reaction, but other than the seriousness of her expression, he could discern nothing of what she thought or felt.

It unsettled him to realize that Dathedr was correct: he could become king.

For a moment, Eragon allowed himself to entertain the possibility. There was no one who could stop him from taking the throne, no one except Elva and perhaps Murtagh- but he knew how to counter Elva's ability, and Murtagh didn't seem like he would be interested in being king. Saphira, he could sense from her mind, would not oppose him, whatever he chose. And though he could not read Nasuada's expression, he had a strange feeling that, for the first time, she would be willing to step aside and allow him to take command.

_What do you want? _asked Saphira.

Eragon thought about it. _I want...to be of use. But power and dominion over others- those things that Galbatorix sought- they hold little appeal for me. In any case, we have other responsibilities._

Shifting his attention back to those watching, he said, "No. It would not be right."

King Orrin grunted and took another swig of his wine, while Arya, Dathedr, and Nasuada seemed to relax, if however slightly. Like them, the Eldunari seemed pleased with his decision, although they did not comment upon it with words.

"I am glad to hear you say it," said Dathedr. "No doubt you would make a fine ruler, but I do not think it would be good for your kind, nor for the other races of Alagaesia, were another Dragon Rider to assume the crown."

Then Arya motioned to Dathedr. The silver-haired elf stepped back slightly, and Arya said, "Roran would be another obvious choice."

"Roran!" said Eragon, incredulous.

Arya gazed at him, her eyes solemn and- in the sideways light- bright and fierce, like emeralds cut in a rayed pattern. "It was by his actions that the Varden captured Uru'baen. He is the hero of Aroughs and many other battles besides. The Varden and the rest of the Empire would follow him without hesitation."

"He's rude and overconfident, and he hasn't the experience needed," said Orrin. Then he glance over at Eragon with a slightly guilty expression. "He is a good warrior, though."

Arya blinked, once, like an owl. "I believe you would find that his rudeness depends upon those he is dealing with...Your Majesty. However, you are correct; Roran lacks the experience needed. That leaves but two choices, then: you and Nasuada."

King Orrin shifted again in his deep-seated chair, and his brow furrowed more severely than before, while Nasuada's expression remained unchanged.

"I assume," said Orrin to Nasuada, "that you wish to assert your claim."

She lifted her chin. "I do." Her voice was as calm as smooth water.

"Then we are at an impasse, for so do I. And I will not relent." Orrin rolled the stem of his goblet between his fingers. "The only way I can see to resolve the matter without bloodshed is for you to renounce your claim. If you insist upon pursuing it, you will end up destroying everything we have won today, and you will have none to blame but yourself for the havoc that will follow."

"You would turn upon your own allies for no other reason than to deny Nasuada the throne?" asked Arya. King Orrin might not have recognized it, but Eragon saw her cold, hard demeanor for what it was: a readiness to strike and kill at a moment's notice.

"No," Orrin replied. "I would turn upon the Varden in order to _win _the throne. There is a difference."

"Why?" asked Nasuada.

"Why?" The question seemed to outrage Orrin. "My people have housed, fed, and equipped the Varden. They have fought and died alongside your warriors and, as a country, we have risked far more than the Varden. The Varden have no home; if Galbatorix had defeated Eragon and the dragons, you could have fled and hid. But we had nowhere to go other than Surda. Galbatorix would have fallen upon us like a bolt from on high, and he would have laid waste to the entire region. We wagered _everything_- our families, our homes, our wealth, and our freedom- and after all that, after all our sacrifices, do you truly believe we will be satisfied to return to our fields with no other rewards than a pat on the head and your royal thanks? Bah! I'd sooner crawl. We've watered the ground between here and the Burning Plains with our blood, and now we'll have our recompense." He clenched his fist. "Now we'll have the just spoils of war."

Orrin's words did not seem to upset Nasuada; indeed, she looked thoughtful, almost sympathetic.

_Surely she won't give this snarling cur what he wants,_ said Saphira.

_Wait and see,_ said Eragon. _She's yet to lead us astray._

Arya said, "I would hope that the two of you could come to an amicable agreement, and-"

"Of course," said King Orrin. "I hope for that as well." His gaze flicked toward Nasuada. "But I fear that Nasuada's single-minded determination will not allow her to realize that, in this, she must finally submit."

Arya continued: "-and as Dathedr said, we would not think of interfering with your race as you choose your next ruler."

"I remember," said Orrin with a hint of a smug smile.

"However," said Arya, "as sworn allies of the Varden, I must tell you that we regard any attack on them as an attack on ourselves, and we will respond in kind."

Orrin's face drew inward, as if he had bitten into something sour.

"The same holds true for us dwarves," said Orik. The sound of his voice was like stones grinding against one another deep underground.

Grimrr Halfpaw lifted his mangle hand before his face and inspected the claw like nails on his three remaining fingers. "We do not care who becomes king or queen as long as we are given the seat next to the throne that was promised to us. Still, it was with Nasuada that we made our bargain, and it is with Nasuada we shall continue to support until such a time as she is no longer pack leader of the Varden."

"Ah-ha!" exclaimed King Orrin, and he leaned forward with his hand on one knee. "But she isn't leader of the Varden. Not anymore. Eragon is!"

Again, all eyes turned to Eragon. He grimaced slightly and said, "I thought it was understood that I gave my authority back to Nasuada the moment she was free. If not, then let there be no mistake: Nasuada is the leader of the Varden, not me. And I believe that she ought to be the one to inherit the throne."

"You _would_ say that," said King Orrin, sneering. "You've sworn fealty to her. Of course you believe she should inherit the throne. You're nothing more than a loyal servant standing up for his master, and your opinions carry no more weight than the opinions of my own servants."

"No!" said Eragon. "There you're wrong. If I thought that you or anyone else would make a better ruler, then I would say so! Yes, I gave my oath to Nasuada, but that doesn't stop me from speaking the truth as I see it."

"Maybe not, but your loyalty to her still clouds your judgment."

"Even as your loyalty to Surda clouds yours," said Orik.

King Orrin scowled. "Why is it that you always turn against me?" he demanded, looking from Eragon to Arya to Orik. "Why is that, in every dispute, you side with her?" Wine sloshed over the rim of his goblet as he gestured toward Nasuada. "Why is it that _she_ commands your respect, and not I or the people of Surda? Always it is Nasuada and the Varden you favor, and before her it was Ajihad. Were my father still alive-"

"Were your father, King Larkin, still alive", said Arya, "he would not be sitting there bemoaning how others see him; he would be doing something about it."

"Peace," said Nasuada before Orrin could utter a retort. "There is no need for insults here...Orrin, your concerns are reasonable. You are right; the Surdans have contributed much to our cause. I freely admit that without your help, we never would have been able to attack the Empire as we did, and you deserve recompense for what you have risked, spent, and lost over the course of this war."

King Orrin nodded, appearing satisfied. "You will yield, then?"

"No," said Nasuada, calm as ever. "That, I will not. But I have a counter proposal, one that perhaps will satisfy all our interests." Orrin made a noise of dissatisfaction, but he did not interrupt further. "My proposal is this: much of the land we have captured shall become part of Surda. Aroughs, Feinster, and Melian will all be yours, as well as the isles to the south, once they are under our governance. By this acquisition, Surda will nearly double in size."

"And in return?" asked King Orrin, lifting an eyebrow.

"In return, you will swear allegiance to the throne here in Uru'baen and whoever sits upon it."

Orrin's mouth twisted. "You would set yourself up as High Queen over the land."

"These two realms- the Empire and Surda- must be reunited if we are to avoid future hostilities. Surda would remain yours to command as you see fit, save for one exception: the magicians of both our countries would be subject to certain restrictions, the exact nature of which we would decide upon at a later date. Along with those laws, Surda would of necessity have to contribute to the defense of our combined territories. Should either of us be attacked, the other would be required to provide aid in the form of men and material."

King Orrin placed his goblet upright in his lap and stared down at it. "Again I ask: why should _you_ be the one to take the throne instead of me? My family has ruled Surda since Lady Marelda won the Battle of Cithri and thereby established both Surda and the House of Langfeld, and we can trace our ancestry all the way back to Thanebrand the Ring Giver himself. We faced and fought the Empire for an entire century. Our gold and our weapons and our armor allowed the Varden to exist in the first place and have sustained you through the years. Without us, it would have been impossible for you to resist Galbatorix. The dwarves could not have provided everything you needed, nor the elves, as far away as they were. So again I ask, why should this prize fall to you, Nasuada, and not me?"

"Because," said Nasuada, "I believe I can make a good queen. And because- as with everything I have done while leading the Varden- I believe it is what is best for our people and for the whole of Alagaesia."

"You have a very high opinion of yourself."

"False modesty is never admirable, and least of all among those who command others. Have I not amply demonstrated my ability to lead? If not for me, the Varden would still be cowering inside Farthen Dur, waiting for a sign from above that it was the right time to advance on Galbatorix. I shepherded the Varden from Farthen Dur to Surda, and I built them into a mighty army. With your help, yes, but I am the one who led them, and it was I who secured the help of the dwarves, the elves, and the Urgals. Could you have done as much? Whosoever rules in Uru'baen will have to treat with every race of the land, not just our own. Again, this I have done and this I can do." Then Nasuada's voice softened, although her expression remained as strong as ever. "Orrin, why do you want this? Would it make you any happier?"

"It isn't a question of happiness," he growled.

"But it is, in part. Do you really want to govern the whole of the Empire in addition to Surda? Whoever takes the throne will have a huge task ahead. There is a country to rebuild: treaties to negotiate, cities still to capture, nobles and magicians to subdue. It will take a lifetime to even begin to undo the damage Galbatorix has wrought. Is that something you are really willing to undertake? It seems to me that you would prefer your life as it once was." Her gaze shifted to the goblet in his lap and then back to his face. "If you accept my offer, you can return to Aberon and your experiments in natural philosophy. Wouldn't you like that? Surda will be larger and richer, and you will have the freedom to pursue your interests."

"We don't always get to do what we like. Sometimes we have to do what it right, not what we want." said King Orrin.

"True, but-"

"Besides, if I were king in Uru'baen, I would be able to pursue my interests here just as easily as I could in Aberon." Nasuada frowned, but before she could speak, Orrin overrode her: "You don't understand..." He scowled and took another sip of wine.

_Then explain it to us, _said Saphira, her impatience conspicuous in the color of her thoughts.

Orrin snorted, drained his goblet, and then threw it against the door to the staircase, denting the gold of the cup and knocking several of the jewels from their settings so that they spun jittering across the floor. "I can't," he growled, "and I don't care to try." He glared around the room. "None of you understand. You are too bound up in your own importance to see. How could you, when you've never experienced what I have?" He sank back into his chair, his eyes like dark coals beneath the eaves of his brow. To Nasuada, he said, "You are determined? You will not withdraw your claim?"

She shook her head.

"And if I choose to pursue my own claim?"

"Then we will be in conflict."

"And the three of you will side with her?" asked Orrin, looking in turn at Arya, Orik, and Grimrr.

"If the Varden are attacked, we will fight alongside them," said Orik.

"As will we," said Arya.

King Orrin smiled a smile that was more a baring of his teeth than anything. "But you would not think to tell us who we ought to choose as our ruler, now would you?"

"Of course not," said Orik, and his own teeth flashed white and dangerous within his beard.

"Of course not." Then Orrin returned his attention to Nasuada. "I want Belatona, along with the other cities you mentioned."

Nasuada thought for a moment. "You're already gaining two port cities with Feinster and Aroughs, three if you count Eoam on Beirland Isle. I'll give you Furnost instead, and then you'll have the whole of Lake Tudosten, even as I will have the whole of Leona Lake.

"Leona is more valuable than Tudosten, as it grants access to the mountains and the northern coast," Orrin pointed out.

"Aye. But you already have access to Leona Lake from Dauth and the Jiet River."

King Orrin stared at the floor in the center of the room and was silent. Outside, the top of the sun slipped below the edge of the horizon, leaving a few attenuated clouds illuminated by its light. The sky began to darken, and the first few stars appeared in the gloaming: faint pinpricks of light in the purple vastness.

The longer they waited, the more likely it seemed to Eragon that Orrin would reject Nasuada's offer, or that he would remain sitting there, silent, for the entire night.

Then the king shifted his weight and looked up. "Very well," he said in a low voice. "As long as you honor the terms of our agreement, I shall not challenge you for Galbatorix's throne...Your Majesty."

A shiver passed through Eragon as he heard Orrin utter those words.

Her expression somber, Nasuada walked forward until she stood in the center of the open room. Then Orik struck the butt of Volund's haft against the floor and proclaimed, "The king is dead, long live the queen!"

"The king is dead, long live the queen!" cried Eragon, Arya, Dathedr, and Grimrr. The werecat's lips stretched, baring his sharp fangs, and Saphira uttered a loud, triumphant bugle, which echoed off the angled ceiling and out over the dusk-ridden city below. A sense of approval emanated from the Eldunari.

Nasuada stood tall and proud, her eyes gleaming with tears in the greying light. "Thank you," she said, and looked at each of them, holding their gaze.

Then she said, "There is one more matter that we need to discuss before leaving." Everyone in the room stared at her but, Eragon could guess what she was going to say next.

"Because of the aid Murtagh gave today in killing Galbatorix, I plan on giving him a full public pardon after my coronation."

Orrin scoffed and Orik's brow furrowed but otherwise the room was quite.

Breaking the silence again Dathedr said, "How can we be sure he won't turn on the races of Alagaesia and cause even more sorrow than he already has?"

"Murtagh wishes to swear oaths in the ancient language to the ambassador of each race after my coronation. He will remain independent, as a Dragon Riders should but shall be bound by his oath only to do good to all in Alagaesia."

"I don't like it," said Orik, in a grim tone. "He killed Hrothgar and for that he must be punished."

"Maybe so. But I believe what he endured at the hands of Galbatorix was more than enough."

After a moment of awkward silence, everyone in the room nodded in agreement. "As you wish, Your Majesty." said Dathedr. Eragon realized Nasuada had proven just exactly why she would make a good queen. The fairness in her decision was exemplary and her ability to convince others of her plans was unsurpassed.

_She will make a good queen, _Saphira said to Eragon.

_Yes, she will, _he replied.

And all across the land, darkness sank, leaving the top of their tower a lone beacon of light high above the city.


	3. A Fitting Epitaph

Running lightly on the cobblestone that paved the streets of Uru'baen, Eragon hurried toward the great square near the center of the city. Preparing for a coronation was harder than Eragon had expected. But Nasuada insisted on holding the ceremony three days after they captured the city. "It will raise spirits and we need to get it out of the way so we can begin focusing on more important things."

Jormundur oversaw most of the preparations and out of everybody, he seemed the most excited about the upcoming day. Not that Eragon wasn't himself but, Jormundur seem to thrive on the excitement surrounding the event. The ceremony would be simple, but gathering so many people into one place was difficult and Nasuada wanted a grand feast to be available to any who wished to join them.

Besides the preparations, other things kept Eragon and Saphira busy. The city's massive gate needed to be rebuilt and for Nasuada's safety Eragon had cast several spells designed to prevent those still loyal to Galbatorix from working against her. The spells applied only to the people within the city and the adjacent lands, but having them in place made everyone in the Varden feel safer.

And now, the day had come. Saphira trotted behind him, causing the ground to rumble with her heavy foot steps.

In a few short minutes Nasuada would be officially the queen of the Empire. The explosion that had ended Galbatorix's life had destroyed the ancient crown of the Broddrings, so the dwarves had forged a new crown from gold found in the city and from jewels the elves had taken from their helms or from the pommels of their swords.

As they reached the city square, Saphira and Eragon walked up to the dais that had been erected in the center of the square. At the top of the dais was a carved chair that would serve as her throne. They got into position and looked over the mass of people swarming about. To their right stood King Orrin, Arya, King Orik, Grimrr Halfpaw, Nar Garzhvog, and Murtagh who was a little off by himself at Thorn's front leg.

Murtagh looked tense but, otherwise stood there with no visible emotions. After catching his attention Eragon nodded in his direction. Raising his hand in greeting, Murtagh nodded back.

A slow drumbeat sounded as Nasuada walked toward the dais. She approached on foot from the direction of the ruined citadel wearing a dress of royal purple- cut short at the elbows so that all might see the scars that lined her forearms- with a train fringed with mink, which Elva carried. It was agreed by all that, even though they had captured the city, it was still wise for Elva to stay with Nasuada at all times.

After she ascended the dais, Nasuada knelt before Eragon and Saphira. A dwarf of Orik's clan presented him with the newly made crown. The metal was cool to his touch and although not light, the crown wasn't heavy enough to prove uncomfortable. Eragon slowly set the crown on Nasuada's head.

Then Saphira arched her neck and, with her snout, touched Nasuada upon the brow, and both she and Eragon said:

"_Rise now as queen, Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad and Nadara."_

A fanfare of trumpets rang forth, and the gathered crowd began to cheer. It was a strange cacophony, what with the bellows of Urgals intermingled with the melodious voices of the elves.

Then Nasuada sat upon the throne. One after the other, King Orrin, Arya, King Orik, Grimrr Halfpaw, and Nar Garzhvog, came and pledged the friendship of their respective races.

The event affected Eragon strongly. He found himself holding back tears as he gazed at Nasuada sitting regnant on her throne. Only with her coronation did it feel as if the specter of Galbatorix's oppression had begun to recede.

With her hand Nasuada quieted the crowd. "I proclaim this day as a yearly celebration. From this moment forward we shall rejoice in the death of a tyrant and also the beginning of a new age." Clapping and shouts rang through the air.

Once the crowd quieted down, Nasuada said, "I have arranged a feast for those who wish to join us. But before we eat, I would like to do one more thing." She turned to where Murtagh and Thorn stood and motioned for them to come to the dais. They did so and when they were standing beside her she looked back over the crowd.

"As queen of the Empire, I give Murtagh and his dragon Thorn a full pardon for the sorrow they wrought as Galbatorix's servants. In the sight of all they will pledge an oath to be an ambassador of each race to protect and serve their people and lands. After this, let us put aside our old feelings for them."

The crowd seemed to be taken aback for a moment. A silence covered the entire square. But then Grimrr Halfpaw went to stand in front of Murtagh, who knelt in front of him. In the ancient language Murtagh swore to protect and serve the werecats his whole life. After him, Thorn brought his head down before Grimrr and did the same sending his thoughts across the whole city square. Nar Garzhvog, Arya, King Orrin, and then King Orik followed Grimrr's example. When, lastly, Murtagh had pledged his protection to King Orik, the whole crowed erupted in cheers.

Afterward, they feasted, the Varden and their allies celebrated throughout the night and into the next day. Eragon remembered little of their festivities, save the dancing of the elves, the pounding of the dwarves' drums, and the four Kull who climbed a tower along the city wall and there stood blowing horns made from the skulls of their fathers. The people of the city joined in the celebrations as well, and among them, Eragon saw relief and jubilation that Galbatorix was no longer king. And underlying their emotions, and those of everyone present, was an awareness of the importance of the moment.

Upon the fifth day, when the gate was nearly rebuilt and the city seemed reasonably secure, Nasuada ordered Eragon and Saphira to fly to Dras-Leona, and thence Belatona, Feinster, and Aroughs, and in each place use the name of the ancient language to release from their oaths everyone who had sworn fealty to Galbatorix.

He and Saphira took with them over half the Eldunari from Vroengard; the rest remained behind with the hearts of hearts that had been rescued from Galbatorix's treasure room. Blodhgarm and his spellcasters- who were no longer bound to defend Eragon and Saphira- moved the Eldunari to a castle several miles northeast of Uru'baen, where it would be easy to protect the hearts against any who might seek to steal them, and where the thoughts of the mad dragons would not affect the minds of any but their caretakers. Murtagh asked for Nasuada's permission to help with the Eldunari and she granted his request. He had told Eragon before he and Saphira left, "I know what it's like to be under Galbatorix and if I can help them, I want to."

Only once Eragon and Saphira were satisfied that the Eldunari were safe did they depart.

When they arrived at Dras-Leona, Eragon was astounded by the number of spells he found woven throughout the city, as well as in the dark tower of stone, Helgrind. Many of them, he guessed, were hundreds of years old, if not older: forgotten enchantments from ages past. He left those that seemed harmless and removed those that did not, but oftentimes it was difficult to tell, and he was reluctant to tamper with spells whose purpose he did not understand. Here the Eldunari proved helpful; in several cases, they remembered who had cast a spell and why, or else they were able to divine its purpose from information that meant nothing to him.

When it came to Helgrind and the various holdings of the priest- who had gone into hiding as soon as news of Galbatorix's demise had reached them- Eragon did not bother trying to determine which spells were dangerous and which were not; he removed them all. He also used the name of names to search for the belt of Beloth the Wise in the ruins of the great cathedral, but without success.

They stayed in Dras-Leona for three days, then they proceeded to Belatona. There too Eragon removed Galbatorix's enchantments, as well as at Feinster and Aroughs. In Feinster, someone tried to kill him with a poisoned drink. His wards protected him, but the incident angered Saphira.

_If I ever corner the rat-coward who did this, I'll eat him alive from the toes up, _she growled.

On the return trip to Uru'baen, Eragon suggested a slight change of direction. Saphira agreed and altered her course, tilting so the horizon stood on end and the world was divided equally between the dark blue sky and the green and brown earth.

It took a half day of searching, but at last Saphira found the cluster of sandstone hills and, among them, one hill in particular: a tall, sloping mound of reddish stone with a cave halfway up its side. And upon its crest, a glittering tomb of diamond.

The hill looked exactly as Eragon remembered. When he gazed upon it, he felt his chest grow tight.

Saphira landed next to the tomb. Her claws scraped against the pitted stone, chipping off flakes.

With slow fingers, Eragon unbuckled his legs. Then he slid to the ground. A wave of dizziness passed through him at the smell of the warm stone, and for a moment, he felt as if he were in the past. Then he shook himself, and his mind cleared. He walked to the tomb and looked into its crystal depths, and there he saw Brom.

There he saw his father.

Brom's appearance had not changed. The diamond that encased his body protected him from the ravages of time, and his flesh showed no hint of decay. The skin of his lined face was firm, and it had a rosy tint, as if hot blood still coursed beneath the surface. At any moment, it seemed as if Brom might open his eyes and rise to his feet, ready to continue their unfinished journey. In a way, he had become deathless, for he no longer aged as others did, but would remain forever the same, caught in a dreamless sleep.

Brom's sword lay atop his chest, with the long white pennant of his beard, his hands folded over the hilt, just as Eragon had placed them. By his side was his gnarled staff, carved, Eragon now realized, with dozens of glyphs from the ancient language.

Tears welled in Eragon's eyes. He fell to his knees and wept quietly for a timeless while. He heard Saphira join him, felt her with his mind, and he knew that she too mourned Brom's passing.  
>At last Eragon got to his feet and leaned against the edge of the tomb as he studied the shape of Brom's face. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the similarities between their features, blurred and obscured by age and by Brom's beard, but still unmistakable. The angle of Brom's cheekbones, the crease between his eyebrows, the way his upper lip curved; all those Eragon recognized. He had not inherited Brom's hooked nose, however. His nose he had gotten from his mother.<p>

Eragon looked down, breathing heavily as his eyes again grew blurry. "It's done," he said in an undertone. "I did it..._We_ did it. Galbatorix is dead, Nasuada is on the throne, and both Saphira and I are unharmed. That would please you, wouldn't it, you old fox?" He laughed shortly and wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. "What's more, there are dragon eggs in Vroengard. Eggs! The dragons aren't going to die out. And Saphira and I will be the ones to raise them. You never foresaw _that_, now did you?" He laughed again, feeling silly and grief-stricken at the same time. "What would you think of this all, I wonder?" You're the same as ever, but we're not. Would you even recognize us?"

_Of course he would, _said Saphira. _You are his son. _She touched him with her snout. _Besides, your face isn't so different that he would mistake you for someone else, even if your scent has changed._

"It has?"

_You smell more like an elf now...Anyway, he would hardly think I was Shruikan or Glaedr, now would he?_

"No."

Eragon sniffed and pushed himself off the tomb. Brom looked so lifelike within the diamond, the sight of him inspired an idea: a wild, improbable idea that he almost dismissed but that his emotions would not let him ignore. He thought of Umaroth and the Eldunari- of their collected knowledge and of what they had accomplished with his spell in Uru'baen- and a spark of desperate hope kindled within his heart.

Speaking both to Saphira and Umaroth, he said, _Brom had only just died when we buried him. Saphira didn't turn the stone to diamond until the following day, but he was still encased in stone, away from the air, through the night. Umaroth, with your strength and your knowledge, maybe...maybe we could still heal him. _Eragon shivered as if he were in the grip of a fever. _I didn't __know how to mend his wound before, but now- now I think I could._

_It would be more difficult than you imagine, _said Umaroth.

_Yes, but you could do it! _said Eragon._ I've seen you and Saphira accomplish amazing things with magic. Surely this isn't beyond you!_

_You know that we cannot use magic on command, _said Saphira.

_And even if we succeeded, _said Umaroth, _there is every chance that we would be unable to restore Brom's mind to what it was. Minds are complicated things, and he might as easily end up with his wits muddled or his personality altered. And then what? Would you want him to live like that? Would _he_? No, it is best to let him be, Eragon, and to honor him with your thoughts and actions, as you have. You wish it were otherwise. So do all who have lost one they care about. However, it is the way of things. Brom lives in your memories, and if he was the man you showed us, he would be content with that. Let you be content with that as well._

_But-_

It was not Umaroth who interrupted, but the oldest of the Eldunari, Valdr. He surprised Eragon by speaking not in images or feelings, but in words of the ancient language, strained and labored, as if each was foreign to him. And he said, _Leave the dead to the earth. They are not for us. _Then he spoke no more, but Eragon felt from him a great sadness and sympathy.

Eragon let out a long sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. Then, in his heart, he allowed himself to release his misguided hope and again accept the fact that Brom was gone.

"Ah," he said to Saphira. "I didn't think this would be so difficult."

_It would be strange if it were not. _He felt her warm breath ruffle the hair on the top of his head as she touched his back with the side of her muzzle.

He smiled weakly and gathered up his courage to look at Brom again.

"Father," he said. The word tasted strange in his mouth; he had never had the cause to say it to anyone before. Then Eragon shifted his gaze to the runes he had set into the spire at the head of the tomb, which read:

_HERE LIES BROM_

_Who was a Dragon Rider_

_And like a father_

_To me._

_May his name live on in glory._

He smiled painfully at how close he had come to the truth. Then he spoke in the ancient language, and he watched the diamond shimmer and flow as a new patter of runes formed upon its surface. When he finished, the inscription had changed to:

_HERE LIES BROM_

_Who was_

_A Rider bonded to the dragon Saphira_

_Son of Holcomb and Nelda_

_Beloved of Selena_

_Father of Eragon Shadeslayer_

_Founder of the Varden_

_And Bane of the Forsworn._

_May his name live on in glory._

_Stydja unin mor'ranr._

It was a less personal epitaph, but it seemed more fitting to Eragon. Then he cast several spells to protect the diamond from thieves and vandals.

He continued to stand next to the tomb, reluctant to turn away and feeling as if there ought to be something _more_- some event or emotion or realization that would make it easier for him to say farewell to his father and thus leave.

At last he put his hand atop the cool diamond, wishing that he could reach through it to touch Brom one final time. And he said, "Thank you for everything you taught me."

Saphira snorted and bowed her head until her snout tapped against the hard jewel.

Then Eragon turned and, with a sense of finality, he slowly climbed onto Saphira's back.

He was somber for a time as Saphira took off and flew northeast, toward Uru'baen. When the patch of sandstone hills was no more than a smudge on the horizon, he let out a long breath and looked up into the azure sky.

A smile split his face.

_What is so amusing? _asked Saphira, and she swung her tail back and forth.

_The scale on your snout is regrowing._

Her delight was evident. Then she sniffed and said, _I always knew it would. Why would it not? _However, he could fell her sides vibrating against his heels as she hummed with satisfaction, and he patted her and laid his chest against her neck, feeling the warmth from her body seeping into his.


	4. Pieces On A Board

When he and Saphira arrived at Uru'baen, Eragon was surprised to discover that Nasuada had restored its name to Ilirea, out of respect for its history and heritage.

Also, he was dismayed to learn that Arya had departed for Ellesmera, along with Dathedr and many of the other high elf lords, and she had taken with her the green dragon egg they had found in the citadel.

She had left a letter for him with Nasuada. In it, Arya explained that she needed to accompany her mother's body back to Du Weldenvarden for a proper burial. As for the dragon egg, she wrote:

..._and because Saphira chose you, a human, to be her Rider, it is only right that an elf should be the next Rider, if the dragon within the egg agrees. I wish to give it that chance without delay. Already, it has spent far too long within its shell. Since there are many more eggs elsewhere- I shall not name the places- I hope you do not believe that I have acted presumptuously or that I have been overly prejudiced in favor of my own race. I consulted with the Eldunari upon this matter, and they agreed with my decision._

_In any event, with both Galbatorix and my mother having passed into the void, I no longer wish to continue as ambassador to the Varden. Rather, I wish to resume my task of ferrying a dragon egg throughout the land, as I did with Saphira's. Of course, an ambassador between our races is still needed. Therefore Dathedr and I have appointed as my replacement a young elf named Vanir, whom you met during your time in Ellesmera. He has expressed a desire to learn more about the people of your race, and that seems to me as good a reason as any for him to have the post- so long as he does not prove completely incompetent, that is._

The letter continued for several more lines, but Arya gave no indication of when, if ever, she might return to the western half of Alagaesia. Eragon was pleased that she had thought enough of him to write, but he wished that she could have waited until their return before she had departed. With her gone, there was a hole in his world, and though he spent a fair amount of time with Roran and Katrina, as well as Nasuada and Murtagh, the aching emptiness within him refused to subside. That, along with his continued sense that he and Saphira were merely biding their time, left him with a feeling of detachment. It often seemed as if he were watching himself from outside his body, as might a stranger. He understood the cause of his feelings, but he could think of no cure other than time.

During their recent trip, it had occurred to him that- with the command of the ancient language bestowed by the name of names- he could remove from Elva the last vestiges of his blessing that had proved a curse. So he went to the girl, where she was living in Nasuada's grand hall, and he told her his idea, then asked her what she wanted.

She did not react with the delight he expected, but sat staring at the floor, a frown upon her pale face. She remained silent for the better part of an hour- he sitting across from her, waiting without complaint.

Then she looked at him and said, "No. I would rather stay as I am...I am grateful that you thought to ask, but this is too large a part of me, and I cannot give it up. Without my ability to sense others' pain, I would be only an oddity- a misbegotten aberration, good for nothing but satisfying the low-minded curiosity of those who consented to have be around, of those who _tolerated _me. With it, I am still an oddity, but I can be useful as well, and I have a power that others fear and a control over my own destiny, which many members of my sex do not." She gestured at the ornate room where she was staying. "Here I can live in comfort- I can live in peace- and yet I can continue to do some good by helping Nasuada. If you take away my ability, then what would I have? What would I do? What would I be? To remove your spell would be no blessing, Eragon. No, I will stay as I am, and I will bear the trials of my gifts of my own free will. But I do thank you."

Two days after he and Saphira lit in what was now Ilirea, Nasuada sent them out once more and this time, to Eragon's delight, with Murtagh and Thorn. First they were to go to Gil'ead and then to Ceunon- the two cities that the elves had captured- so that they could use the name of names to clear away Galbatorix's spells and to establish the Varden's rule.

The four of them found Gil'ead unpleasant to visit. It reminded them of when the Urgals had captured Eragon at Durza's orders, and also of Oromis's death. Murtagh was especially quiet and reserved and Eragon was glad when they left it behind.

Ceunon was completely different. They stayed there for three nights, spending their free time exploring the city. It was unlike any other place they had seen before. The buildings were mainly wood, with steep, shingled roofs that, in the case of the larger houses, had several layers. The peaks of the roofs were often decorated with a stylized carving of a dragon head, while the doors were carved or painted with elaborate, knot like patterns.

When they departed, Saphira was the one who suggested a change of path. She did not have to try very hard to convince Eragon, and once he explained it to Murtagh and Thorn they also agreed.

From Ceunon, they flew westward, across the Bay of Fundor: a broad, white-capped expanse of water. The grey and black humps of great sea-fish often breached the waves, like small, leathery islands. Then they would spray water from their blowholes and lift their flukes high into the air before slipping back into the silent depths.

Across the Bay of Fundor, through winds cold and blustery, and then across the mountains of the Spine, each of which Eragon knew by name. And thus to Palancar Valley for the first time since he and Saphira had set off in pursuit of the Ra'zac, along with Brom, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The valley smelled like home to Eragon; the scent of the pines and the willows and the birches reminded him of his childhood, and the bitter bite of the air told him that winter was near.

They landed in the charred ruins of Carvahall, and Eragon hopped off Saphira. Murtagh also jumped off Thorn and strode over to where Eragon stood.

"This is where you grew up?" he asked, with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"No, about ten miles out of Carvahall." Eragon replied.

A piece of burnt wood cracked under Eragon's foot as he dragged his boot through a pile of ashes. The destruction of the town left him saddened. In the back of his mind he could feel Saphira tell Thorn about the time she had flown Garrow's body toward the city.

Most of the villagers who had escaped were still alive. If they returned, Eragon know that they would rebuild Carvahall and make it better than it had been. The buildings he had grown up with, though, they were gone forever. Their absence exacerbated his feeling that he no longer belonged in Palancar Valley, and the empty spaces where they ought to have been left him with a sense of wrongness, and as if he were in a dream where everything was off-kilter.

Looking around Murtagh asked, "Where did Brom live?"

"In the outskirts of Carvahall. He was half- hermit so, for him it was probably still too close." he replied with a smile. Murtagh smiled as well and then began to gather sticks for a small campfire. Together they made a large pot of stew and while they ate, Saphira and Thorn prowled the surrounding landscape, sniffing at whatever they found interesting.

When the stew was gone, Eragon carried the pot, bowls, and spoons to the Anora River and washed them in the icy water while Murtagh put the fire out.

Squatting on the rocky shore Eragon stared at the drifting white plume at the head of the valley: the Igualda Falls, which stretched upward for a half mile before disappearing over a shoulder of stone high on Narnmor Mountain. Seeing it brought back the evening he had returned from the Spine with Saphira's egg in his pack, knowing nothing of what lay before the two of them, or even that there would _be "the _two of them".

Murtagh came and squatted beside him. Eragon gave him a sideways glance and then smiled. "Would you really have wanted to grow up here, in the middle of nowhere?" he teased. "You certainly missed out on many a terrifying story regarding the Spine around a warm fire at night." With a chuckle, Murtagh gave him a bump on the shoulder. "Of course! Much better than the terrors of Galbatorix's court." Dipping his head Eragon said, "True."

They got up and returned to where Saphira and Thorn were waiting for them. As Eragon mounded Saphira she asked, _Do you want to visit your farm?_

He shook his head. _No. I would rather think of it as it was, not as it is._

She agreed. However, by unspoken consent she flew south following the same path as when they had left Palancar Valley. Along the way, Eragon glimpsed the clearing where his home had been, but it was distant and obscure enough that he was able to pretend that perhaps the house and barn were still intact.

At the southern end of the valley, Saphira rode a pillar of rising air up to the top of the huge, bare mountain, Utgard, where stood the crumbling turret the Riders had built to keep watch over mad King Palancar. The turret had once been known as Edoc'sil, but now bore the name Ristvak'baen, of the "Place of Sorrow," as it was there that Galbatorix had slain Vrael.

In the ruins of the turret, Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira, Thorn and the Eldunari with them paid their respects to the memory of Vrael. Umaroth in particular was somber, but he said, _Thank you for bringing me here, Saphira. I never thought to see the place where my Rider fell._

Then Saphira and Thorn spread their wings and leaped out of the turret and soared away from the valley and over the grassy plains beyond.

Halfway to Ilirea, Nasuada contacted them through one of the Varden's magicians and ordered them to join a large group of warriors she had sent to march from the capital to Teirm.

Eragon was pleased to learn that Roran commanded the warriors and that among their ranks were Jeod, Baldor- who had regained full use of his hand after the elves reattached it- and several more of the villagers.

Somewhat to Eragon's surprise, the people of Teirm refused to surrender, even after he and Murtagh had released them from their oaths to Galbatorix, and even though it was obvious that the Varden, with two Dragon Rider's aid, could easily capture the city if they wished. Instead, the governor of Teirm, Lord Risthart, demanded that they be allowed to become an independent city-state with the freedom to choose its own rulers and set its own laws.

In the end, after several days of negotiations, Nasuada agreed to his terms, provided that Lord Risthart swore allegiance to her as high queen, even as King Orrin had, and consented to abide by her laws concerning magicians.

From Teirm, Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh, and Thorn accompanied the warriors south, along the narrow coast, until they arrived at the city of Kuasta. They repeated the process performed at Teirm, but unlike Teirm, the governor of Kuasta yielded and agreed to join Nasuada's new kingdom.

Then, with Murtagh and Thorn, Eragon and Saphira flew without the warriors to Narda, far to the north, and extracted the same promise from them before finally returning to Ilirea, where they stayed some weeks in the hall next to Nasuada's.

When time allowed, he and Saphira left the city and went to the castle, where Blodhgarm and the other spellcasters guarded the Eldunari rescued from Galbatorix. Murtagh and Thorn had left early in the morning to patrol and didn't accompany them to the estate.

They made progress, but it was slow, and some of the Eldunari responded faster than others. Many of them, Eragon worried, simply did not care about life anymore, or were so lost within the labyrinths of their minds that it was almost impossible to communicate with them in a meaningful manner, even for the elder dragons such as Valdr. To prevent the hundreds of maddened dragons from overwhelming those who were trying to help them, the elves kept most of the Eldunari in a trance like state, choosing to interact with only a few at a time.

Eragon also labored alongside the magicians of Du Vrangr Gata to empty the citadel of its treasures. Much of the work fell to him and Murtagh, as none of the other spellcasters had the knowledge or experience needed to deal with many of the enchanted artifacts Galbatorix had left behind. But Eragon did not mind: he enjoyed exploring the damaged fortress and discovering the secrets that lay hidden therein. It was also an opportunity to get to know his half-brother better as they toiled alongside each other for hours. Their time together was enjoyable and he felt satisfaction in gaining another sibling. Galbatorix had collected a host of wonders over the past century, some more dangerous than others, but all of them interesting. Eragon's favorite was an astrolabe that, when put to his eye, allowed him to see the stars, even in daylight.

He kept the existence of the most perilous artifacts a secret between him, Saphira, Thorn, Murtagh and Nasuada, deeming it too risky to allow knowledge of them to spread.

Nasuada put the trove of riches they recovered from the citadel to immediate use feeding and clothing her warriors, as well as rebuilding the defenses of the cities they had captured during their invasion of the Empire. In addition, she gave a gift of five gold crowns to every one of her subjects: a trifling amount to the nobles, but a veritable fortune to the poorer farmers. The gesture, Eragon knew, earned her their respect and allegiance in a way Galbatorix would never have understood.

They also recovered several hundred Rider's swords: swords of every color and shape, made for both humans and elves. It was a breathtaking find. Eragon and Saphira personally carried the weapons to the castle where the Eldunari were, in anticipation of the day when they would again be needed by Riders.

Rhunon, Eragon thought, would be pleased to know that so much of her handiwork had survived.

And there were the thousands of scrolls and books that Galbatorix had collected, which the elves and Jeod helped to catalog, setting aside those that contained secrets about the Riders or the inner workings of magic. To Eragon's initial surprise, Murtagh took a great interest in the scrolls but then he remembered that Murtagh had enjoyed the short taste of the scholar lifestyle while they had been Farthen Dur.

As they sorted though Galbatorix's great hoard of knowledge, Eragon kept hoping that they would find some mention of where the king had hidden the rest of the Lethrblaka's eggs. However, the only mention of the Lethrblaka or the Ra'zac he saw were in works by the elves and the Riders from ages past, which discussed the dark menace of the night and pondered what was to be done about a foe that could not be detected with magic of any sort.

Now that Eragon could speak openly with him, he found himself talking with Jeod on a regular basis, confiding in him all that had happened with the Eldunari and the eggs, and even going so far as to tell him about the process of finding his true name of Vroengard. Talking with Jeod was a comfort, especially as he was one of the few people who had known Brom well enough to call him a friend.

Eragon found it interesting, in a rather abstract way, to watch what went into ruling and rebuilding the kingdom Nasuada had formed from the remnants of the Empire. The amount of effort required to manage such an enormous and diverse country was tremendous, and the task never seemed finished; there was always more that needed doing. Eragon knew that he would have hated the demands of the position, but Nasuada appeared to thrive upon them. Her energy never flagged, and she always seemed to know how to solve the problems that came before her. Day by day, he saw her stature grow among the emissaries, functionaries, nobles, and commoners with whom she dealt. She seemed perfectly suited for her new role.

He watched how she rendered judgment upon the nobles who had worked with Galbatorix- willingly or not- and he approved of the fairness and mercy she displayed, as well as the punishments she dealt out when necessary. Most she stripped of their lands, titles, and the better portion of their ill-gotten wealth, but she did not have them executed, for which Eragon was glad.

He stood by her side when she granted Nar Garzhvog and his people vast swaths of land along the northern coast of the Spine, as well as along the fertile plains between the lake Flam and the Toark River, where few if any people now lived. And that too Eragon approved of.

Like King Orrin and Lord Risthart, Nar Garzhvog had sworn fealty to Nasuada as his high queen. However the huge Kull said, "My people agree with this, Lady Nightstalker, but they have thick blood and short memories, and words will not bind them forever."

In a cold voice, Nasuada replied, "Do you mean to say your people will break the peace? Am I to understand our races will once again be enemies?"

"No," said Garzhvog, and shook his massive head. "We do not want to fight you. We know that Firesword would kill us. But...when our young ones have grown, they will want battle in which to prove themselves. If there are no battles, then they will start them. I am sorry, Nightstalker, but we cannot change what we are."

The exchange troubled Eragon- and Nasuada as well- and he spent several nights thinking about the Urgals, trying to solve the problem they presented.

As the weeks rolled by, Nasuada continued to send him and Saphira, along with Thorn and Murtagh, to various locations within Surda and her kingdom, often using them as her personal representatives to King Orrin, Lord Risthart, and the other nobles and groups of soldiers throughout the land.

Wherever they went, they searched for a place that could serve as a home for the Eldunari in the centuries to come and as well as nesting and proving grounds for the dragons hidden on Vroengard. Murtagh had suggested a certain area of the Spine that showed promise, but Eragon had realized it was either too close to humans or Urgals, or else so far north it would be miserable to live there year-round.

Eragon liked the Beor Mountains but Saphira was doubtful the dwarves would welcome hundreds of ravenous dragons hatching within the bounds of their realm. _No matter where we go in the Beors, we will still be a short flight from at least one dwarven city, and it would not do if a young dragon were to start raiding the dwarves' flocks of Feldunost. _She had said. _Even if they are tasty. _

The elves would, he thought, have no objection to the dragons living on or around one of the mountains of Du Weldenvarden, but Eragon still worried about their nearness to the elven cities. Also, he disliked the idea of placing the dragons and the Eldunari within the territory of any one race. Doing so would give the appearance that they were lending support to that race in particular. The Riders of the past had never done that, nor- Eragon believed- should the Riders of the future.

The only location that was far enough away from every town and city and that no race had yet claimed was the ancestral home of the dragons: the heart of the Hadarac Desert, where stood Du Fells Nangoroth, the Blasted Mountains. It would, Eragon was sure, be a fine place to raise hatchlings. However, it had three drawbacks. First, they would not be able to find enough food in the desert to feed the young dragons. Both Thorn and Saphira had expressed displeasure at the idea of spending most of their time carrying deer and other wild animals to the mountains. And of course, once the hatchlings grew larger, they would have to start flying out on their own, which would take them close to the lands of either the humans, the elves, or the dwarves. Second, everyone who had traveled widely- and many who had not- knew where the mountains were. And third, it was not unduly difficult to reach the mountains, especially in the winter. The last two points concerned Eragon the most and made him wonder how well they would be able to protect the eggs, the hatchlings, and the Eldunari.

"It would be better if we were high up on one of the peaks of the Beors, where only a dragon could fly," Murtagh had commented.

_But it would be cold all the time! _ Saphira had protested.

Slightly confused, Eragon said, "I thought you didn't mind the cold."

_I don't. But I don't want to live in the snow year-round either. Sand is better for your scales; Glaedr told me. It helps polish them and keep them clean. _She responded.

_And the hatchlings wouldn't be warm enough, _Thorn had added in his musical voice.

Day by day, the weather grew colder. Trees shed their leaves, flocks of birds flew south for the year, and winter thus came upon the land. It was a cruel, harsh winter, and for a long while it felt as if the whole of Alagaesia was locked in slumber. At the first fall of snow, Orik and his army returned to the Beor Mountains. All the elves who were still in Ilirea- save Vanir and Blodhgarm and his ten spellcasters- likewise left for Du Weldenvarden. The Urgals had departed weeks earlier. Last to go were the werecats. They seemed to simply disappear; no one saw them leave, and yet one day they were all gone, except for a large, fat werecat by the name of Yelloweyes, who sat on the padded cushion next to Nasuada, purring, napping, and listening to everything that went on in the throne room.

Without the elves and the dwarves, the city felt depressingly empty to Eragon as he walked along the streets, ragged flakes of snow drifting sideways underneath the shelf of creviced stone overhead.

And still Nasuada continued to dispatch him and Saphira as well as Thorn and Murtagh upon missions. But never did she send them to Du Weldenvarden, the one place Eragon wanted to go. They had had no word from the elves as to who had been chosen as Islanzadi's successor, and when asked, Vanir would only say, "We are not a hasty people, and for us, appointing a new monarch is a difficult, complicated process. As soon as I learn what our councils have decided, I will tell you."

It had been so long since Eragon had seen or heard from Arya, he considered using the name of the ancient language to bypass the wards around Du Weldenvarden so that he could communicate with, or at least scry, her. However, he knew the elves would not look kindly on the intrusion, and he feared Arya would not appreciate him contacting her in that way with out a pressing need.

Therefore, he instead wrote her a short letter, asking after her and telling her some of what he and Saphira had been doing. He gave the letter to Vanir, and Vanir promised that he would have it sent to Arya at once. Eragon was sure that Vanir kept his word- for they had been speaking in the ancient language- but he received no response from Arya, and as the moons waxed and waned, he began to think that, for some unknown reason, she had decided to end their friendship. The thought hurt him terrible, and it caused him to concentrate on the work Nasuada gave him with even grater intensity, hoping to forget his misery.

In the deepest part of winter, when sword like icicles hung from the shelf above Ilirea and deep drifts of snow lay upon the surrounding landscape, when the roads were nearly impassable and the fare at their table had grown lean, three attempts were made on Nasuada's life.

The attempts were clever and well thought out, and the third one- which involved a net full of stones falling on Nasuada- nearly succeeded. But with Eragon's wards and Elva to protect her, Nasuada survived, although the last attack cost her several broken bones.

During the third attempt, Eragon and the Nighthawks managed to kill two of Nasuada's attackers- the exact number of which remained a mystery- but the rest escaped.

Eragon and Jormundur went to extraordinary lengths to ensure Nasuada's safety after that. They increased the number of her guards once again, and wherever she went, at least three spellcasters accompanied her. Nasuada herself grew ever more wary. Eragon also noticed that when Murtagh wasn't busy with a task given to him by Nasuada he stayed closer to her than before, although he didn't openly follow her about.

There were no more attacks upon Nasuada's person, but a month after winter broke and the roads were again clear, a displaced earl by the name of Hamlin, who had gathered up several hundred of the Empire's former soldiers, started launching raids against Gil'ead and attacking the travelers on the roads thereabouts. At the same time, another, slightly larger rebellion began to brew in the south, led by Tharos the Quick of Aroughs.

Nasuada immediately dispatched Eragon and Saphira to Gil'ead and Murtagh and Thorn to Aroughs. The uprisings were more of a nuisance than anything, but they took several months to quell, and resulted in a number of unexpectedly savage fights, although both Eragon and Saphira, as well as, Thorn and Murtagh attempted to settle matters peacefully whenever they could. After the battles they had already participated in, neither Rider or dragon was thirsty for more blood.

Soon after the end of the uprisings, Katrina gave birth to a large, healthy girl with a lock of red hair atop her head, the same as her mother. The girl bawled louder than any infant Eragon had ever heard, and she had a grip like iron. Roran and Katrina named her Ismira, after Katrina's mother, and whenever they looked at her, the joy in their faces made Eragon grin as well.

The day after Ismira's birth, Nasuada summoned Roran to her throne room and surprised him by granting him the title of earl, along with the whole of Palancar Valley as his domain.

"As long as you and your descendants remain fit to rule, the valley shall be yours," she said.

Roran bowed and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty." The gift, Eragon could see, meant almost as much to Roran as had the birth of his daughter, for after his family, the thing Roran prized most was his home.

Nasuada also tried to give Eragon various titles and lands, but he refused them, saying, "It is enough to be a Rider; I need nothing more."

A few days later, Eragon was standing with Nasuada in her study, examining the map of Alagaesia and discussing the matters of concern throughout the land, when she said, "Now that things are somewhat more settled, I think it's time to address the role of magicians within Surda, Teirm, and my own kingdom."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've spent a great deal of time thinking about it and have reached a decision. I have decided to divide Alagaesia into decent sized tracts of land."

Nasuada picked up a quill from her desk and rolled it between her fingers. "I will put spellcasters who have sworn in the ancient language to uphold the law over these areas."

Eragon frown slightly. "Why not just leave that to the Riders?"

"Because it will be years before we have more of them, and even then there won't be enough to mind every petty conjurer and hedge witch. I believe I have been focusing on the wrong end of the problem though. Instead of having one spell caster try to keep in check every petty conjurer, I plan to have the common people report to the spell caster in charge of that tract of land if they feel they have been wronged by a magician. The governing spell caster would then go and test the mind of the magician accused of the crime. If..." and at this she raised her finger, "...the magician is taking advantage of the common people, the governing spell caster would require them to pay for their crimes through fees and such."

"What if the magician is too powerful for the governing spell caster?" asked Eragon as he thought about her proposal.

"I would like to station at least one other spell caster in each tract. If the threat is still to great for two spell casters, they can call upon the help of a Dragon Rider, which should be more than enough."

"This still won't be enough to keep magicians from manipulating others in small underhanded ways."

A sigh escaped Nasuada, and she put down her quill. "I know. I only have one other measure to take with this plan- in addition to being there for the people, the governing spell casters would walk the tract of land assigned to them and watch for themselves the people they are entrusted with. This is the only way I know how to reign in the magicians without having to watch them at every step."

"That would be almost as tyrannical as Galbatorix." said Eragon.

"Exactly. Something I would like to avoid. I would also like to have a Dragon Rider survey the tracts of land occasionally to make sure the governing spell casters are doing their duty and haven't found a way to slip around their oath as well. No one is impervious to an evil deed here and there."

Eragon thought for a moment and then said, "As always, your plans are well thought out and I have nothing I would change. I will support it."

"Thank you, Eragon." Then she looked at him with concern. "Have you found a place to raise the dragons?

Eragon shook his head. Both he and Saphira had been feeling increasingly impatient, but as of yet, they and the Eldunari had been unable to agree upon a location, even with Murtagh and Thorn's help. It was becoming a sore point between them, for the infant dragons needed to hatch as soon as possible.

"Hmm. Would it help if I gave you and Murtagh some time to go scout the land?"

"We have seen large portions already and haven't found anything suitable."

"I see, well, if you find a place let me know as soon as possible so I can begin to get the necessary things in order for your journey."

"I will." Eragon said in a resolute tone.

At that moment Vanir came into the room and bowed before Nasuada. "Your Majesty, my people have chosen a new ruler."

"Who is it?" she asked with interest.

"Lord Dathedr, Your Majesty."

Nasuada nodded. Eragon agreed with the decision as he seemed the most fit to govern the elves- besides Arya that was.

"Thank you for the information, Vanir-vodhr."

That night, when the waxing moon had just appeared beneath the edge of the cliff over Ilirea and Eragon was sitting against the end of his bed, reading a book about the saddle-making techniques of the early Riders, a flicker by the edge of his sight- like the flapping of a drape- caught his attention.

He sprang to his feet, drawing Brisingr from its sheath.

Then, in his open window, he saw a small three-masted ship, woven from stalks of grass. He smiled and sheathed his sword. He held out his hand, and the ship sailed across the room and landed upon his palm, where it listed to one side.

The ship was different from the one Arya had made during their travels together in the Empire, after he and Roran rescued Katrina from Helgrind. It had more masts, and it also had sails fashioned from the blades of grass. Though the grass was limp and browning, it had not dried out entirely, which led him to think it had been picked only a day or two earlier.

Tied to the middle of the deck was a square of folded paper. Eragon carefully removed it, his heart pounding, then unfolded the paper on the floor. It read, in glyphs of the ancient language:

_Eragon,_

_I am on my way to Ilirea and would like to talk with you and Saphira first. This message should reach you four days before the half moon. If you would, meet me the day after you receive it, at the easternmost point of the Ramr River. Come alone, and do not tell anyone else where you are going._

_Arya_

Eragon smiled without meaning to. Her timing had been perfect; the ship had arrived exactly when she intended. Then his smile faded, and he reread the letter several more times. She was hiding something; that much was obvious. But what? Why meet in secret?

_Maybe Arya doesn't approve of the elves' next ruler, _he thought. _Or maybe there's some other problem. _And though Eragon was eager to see her again, he could not forget how she had ignored him and Saphira. He supposed that, from Arya's point of view, the intervening months were a trifling amount of time, but he could not help feeling hurt.

He waited until the first hint of sunlight appeared in the sky, then hurried down to wake Saphira and tell her the news. She was as curious as he, if not quite as excited.

He saddled her, and then they left the city and set off to the northeast, having told no one of their plans, not even Glaedr or the other Eldunari.


	5. Firnen

It was early in the afternoon when they arrived at the location Arya had designated: a gentle curve in the Ramr River that marked its farthest excursion eastward.

Eragon strained to look over Saphira's neck as he searched for a glimpse of anyone below. The land appeared empty, save for a herd of wild oxen. When the animals caught sight of Saphira, they fled, lowing and kicking up plumes of dust. They and a few other, smaller animals scattered about the countryside where the only living creatures Eragon could sense. Disappointed, he shifted his gaze to the horizon but saw no sign of Arya.

Saphira landed on a slight rise fifty yards from the banks of the river. She sat, and Eragon sat with her, resting his back against her side.

On the top of the rise was an outcropping of soft, slate like rock. While the waited, Eragon amused himself by grinding a thumb-sized flake into the shape of an arrowhead. The stone was too soft for the arrowhead to be anything other than decorative, but he enjoyed the challenge. When he was satisfied with the simple, triangular point, he set it aside and began to grind a larger piece into a leaf-bladed dagger, similar to those the elves carried.

They did not have to wait as long as he first thought.

An hour after their arrival, Saphira lifted her head from the ground and peered across the plains in the direction of the not-so-distant Hadarac Desert.

Her body stiffened against his, and he felt a strange emotion within her: a sense of impending momentousness.

_Look, _she said.

Keeping hold of his half-finished dagger, he clambered to his feet and peered eastward.

He saw nothing but grass, dirt, and a few lone, windswept trees between them and the horizon. He broadened his area of scrutiny but still saw nothing of interest.

_What_- he started to ask, then cut himself off as he looked up.

High in the eastern sky, he saw a wink of green fire, like an emerald glimmering in the sun. The point of light arced through the blue mantle of the heavens, approaching at a rapid pace, bright as a star at night.

Eragon dropped the stone dagger and, without taking his eyes off the glittering spark, climbed onto Saphira's back and strapped his legs into her saddle. He wanted to ask her what she thought the point of light was- to force her to put into words what he suspected- but he could not bring himself to speak any more than she could.

Saphira held her position, although she unfolded her wings and, keeping them bent nearly in half, lifted them in preparation to take off.

As it grew larger, the spark proliferated, dividing into a cluster of dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of tiny points of light. After a few minutes, the true shape of it became visible, and they saw that it was a dragon.

Saphira could wait no longer. She uttered a resonant trumpet, leaped off the rise, and flapped downward.

Eragon clutched the neck spike in front of him as she ascended at a nearly vertical angle, desperate to intercept the other dragon as quickly as possible. Both he and she alternated between elation and a wariness born of too many battles. In their caution, it pleased them that they had the sun to their backs.

Saphira continued to climb until she was slightly above the green dragon, whereupon she leveled off and concentrated upon speed.

Closer, Eragon saw that the dragon, while well built, still had some of the gangly look of youth- his limbs had yet to acquire the stocky weight of Glaedr's or Thorn's- and he was smaller than Saphira. The scales upon his sides and back were a dark forest green, while those upon his belly and the pads of his feet were lighter, with the smallest ones verging upon white. When against his body, his wings were the color of holly leaves, but when the light shone through them, they were the color of oak leaves in the spring.

At the juncture between the dragon's neck and back was a saddle much like Saphira's, and on the saddle sat a figure that looked to be Arya, her dark hair streaming from her head. The sight filled Eragon's heart with joy.

As the dragons swooped past each other, Saphira roared, and the other dragon roared in response. They turned and began to circle- as if chasing each other's tails- Saphira still slightly above the green dragon, who made no attempt to climb above her. If he had, Eragon would have feared he was attempting to gain the advantage before attacking.

He grinned and shouted into the wind. Arya shouted back and raised an arm. Then Eragon touched her mind, just to be sure, and he _knew_ in an instant that it really was Arya, and that she and the dragon meant them no harm. He withdrew a moment later, for it would have been rude to prolong the mental contact without her consent; she would answer his questions when they spoke on the ground.

Saphira and the green dragon roared again, and the green dragon lashed his whip like tail; then they chased each other through the air until they reached the Ramr River. There Saphira took the lead and spiraled down until she landed upon the same rise where she and Eragon had been waiting.

The green dragon landed a hundred feet away, settling into a low crouch while Arya freed herself from the saddle.

Eragon tore the straps of his legs and jumped to the ground, banging the sheath of Brisingr against his leg. He ran over to Arya, and she to him, and they met in the middle between the two dragons, who followed at a more sedate pace, their steps weighing heavily on the ground.

As he drew near, Eragon saw that, at her waist hung a green-hilted sword in a green sheath, which he recognized as Tamerlein, the same sword the elf lord Fiolr had offered him as a replacement for Zar'roc and that had once belonged to the Rider Arva. However, the hilt looked different than he remembered, lighter and more graceful, and the sheath appeared narrower.

When they met, Arya inclined her head and said, "Atra esterni ono thelduin, Eragon."

"Atra du evarinya ono varda, Arya." It did not escape him that she had chosen to greet him first. "You're a Dragon Rider now." The words were simple but thick with excitement.

"Yes."

As much as Eragon wanted to talk with Arya, he could not help staring at the green dragon. "And him?" he asked motioning upward.

Arya smiled, and then she surprised him by taking his hand and leading him forward. The green dragon snorted and lowered his head until it hung just above them, smoke and steam rising from the depths of his crimson nostrils.

"Eragon," she said, and she placed his hand on the dragon's warm snout, "this is Firnen. Firnen, this is Eragon."

Eragon looked up into one of Firnen's brilliant eyes; the bands of muscle within the dragon's iris were the pale green and yellow of new blades of grass.

_I am glad to meet you, Eragon-friend-Shadeslayer, _said Firnen. His mental voice was deeper than Eragon expected, deeper even than that of Thorn or Glaedr or any of the Eldunari from Vroengard. _My Rider has told me much about you. _And the dragon blinked once, with a small, sharp sound like a shell bouncing against a stone.

In Firnen's wide, sunlit mind, planked as it were with transparent shadows, Eragon could feel the dragon's excitement.

Wonder swept through Eragon, wonder that such a thing had come to pass. "I am glad to meet you as well, Firnen-finiarel. I never thought that I would like to see you hatched and free of Galbatorix's spells."

The emerald dragon snorted softly. He looked proud and full of energy, like a stag in fall. Then he returned his gaze to Saphira. Between the two of them, much passed; through Saphira, Eragon could feel the flow of thoughts, emotions, and sensations, slow at first, but them swelling into a torrent.

Arya smiled slightly. "They seem to have taken to each other."

"That they have."

A mutual understanding guiding them, he and Arya walked out from under Saphira and Firnen, leaving the dragons to themselves. Saphira did not sit as she normally did, but remained crouched, as if she were about to spring onto a deer. Firnen did the same. The tips of their tails twitched.

Arya looked well: better, Eragon thought, than she had since their time together in Ellesmera. For lack of a more suitable word, he would have said she looked happy.

Neither of them spoke for a while as they watched the dragons. Then Arya turned toward him and said, "I apologize for not contacting you sooner. You must think badly of me for ignoring you and Saphira for so long and for keeping such as secret as Firnen."

"Did you receive my letter?"

"I did." To his surprise, she reached inside the front of her tunic and removed a square of battered parchment that, after a few seconds, he recognized. "I would have answered, but Firnen had already hatched and I did not want to lie to you, even by omission."

"Why keep him hidden?"

"With so many of Galbatorix's servants still on the loose, and so few dragons remaining, I did not want to risk anyone finding out about Firnen until he was large enough to defend himself."

"Did you really think a human could have snuck into Du Weldenvarden and killed him?"

"Stranger things have happened. With the dragons yet on the brink of extinction, it was not a risk worth taking. If I could, I would keep Firnen in Du Weldenvarden for the next ten years, until he is so large that none would dare attack him. But he wished to leave, and I could not deny him."

Eragon could feel Firnen showing and telling Saphira about the first time he caught a deer in the elves' forest. He knew that Arya was aware of the exchange as well, for he saw her lip twitch in the response to an image of Firnen hopping in pursuit of a startled doe after he tripped over a branch.

Silence fell between them. Then Eragon gestured at Arya and Firnen and said, "How did all of this happen?"

She smiled. "On our return to Ellesmera, I noticed that Firnen was beginning to stir within his shell, but I thought nothing of it, as Saphira had often done the same. However, once we reached Du Weldenvarden and passed through its wards, he hatched. It was nearly evening, and I was carrying his egg in my lap, as I used to carry Saphira's, and I was speaking to him, telling him of the world and reassuring him that he was safe, and then I felt the egg shake and..." She shivered and tossed he hair, a bright film of tears in her eyes. "The bond is everything I imagined it to be. When we touched...I always wanted to be a Dragon Rider, Eragon, so that I could protect my people and avenge my father's death at the hands of Galbatorix and the Forsworn, but until I saw the first crack appear in Firnen's egg, I never allowed myself to believe that it might actually come to pass."

"When you touched, did-"

"Yes." She lifted her left hand and showed him the silvery mark on the palm, the same as his own gedwey ignasia. "It felt like..." She paused, searching for the words.

"Like ice-cold water that tingled and snapped," he suggested.

"Exactly like that." Without seeming to notice, she crossed her arms, as if chilled.

"So you returned to Ellesmera," said Eragon. Now Saphira was telling Firnen about when she and Eragon swam in Leona Lake while traveling to Dras-Leona with Brom.

"So we returned to Ellesmera. You might like to know: I raised him on the Crags of Tel'naeir, where Oromis lived with Glaedr. It seemed only right."

"Vanir said you chose Lord Dathedr as your new monarch."

"Yes. Dathedr and the other elders of our race came to the house on the crags, and they asked me to take up my mother's mantle. I refused, but they returned the next day, and the day after that, and every day for a week, and each time with new arguments for why I should accept the crown. If not for Firnen I would have accepted but, I disagreed strongly with them that a Rider should also be the ruler of a nation."

"Why did they even ask you once you became a Rider?"

"Our politics are far more complicated than those of the humans or the dwarves, and choosing a new monarch is never easy. It involves obtaining consent from dozens of houses and families, as well as several of the older members of our race, and every choice they make is part of a subtle game that we have been playing amongst ourselves for thousands of years...There were many reasons why they wanted me to become queen, not all of them obvious."

"I understand why you did not contact us for so long. I probably would have done the same in your place."

She smiled again. "Thank you."

He motioned toward her sword. "I take it Rhunon reworked Tamerlein to better fit you?"

"She did, and she grumbled about it the whole while. She said the blade was perfect the way it was, but I am well pleased with the changes she made; the sword balances as it should in my hand now, and it feels no heavier than a switch."

They stood for a moment, watching the dragons before Arya asked, "What else of interest has occurred since you wrote?"

Eragon thought for a moment, then told her in brief about the attempts on Nasuada's life, the uprisings in the north and the south, and the list of treasures they had recovered from within the citadel. Lastly, he told of their return to Carvahall and their visit to Brom's final resting place.

While he spoke, Saphira and Firnen began to circle each other, the tips of their tails whipping back and forth faster than ever. They both had their jaws slightly open, baring their long white teeth, and they were breathing thickly through their mouths and uttering low, whining grunts, the likes of which Eragon had never heard before. It looked almost as if they were going to attack each other, which worried him, but the feeling from Saphira was not of anger or fear. It was-

_I want to test him,_ said Saphira. She slapped her tail against the ground, causing Firnen to pause.

_Test him? How? For what?_

_To find out if he has the iron in his bones and the fire in his belly to match me._

_Are you sure? _he asked, understanding her intent.

She again slapped her tail against the ground, and he felt her certainty and the strength of her desire. _I know everything about him- everything but this. Besides- _she displayed a flash of amusement- _it's not as if dragons mate for life._

_Very well...But be careful._

He had barely finished speaking when Saphira lunged forward and bit Firnen on his left flank, drawing blood and causing Firnen to snarl and spring backward. The green dragon growled, appearing uncertain of himself, and retreated before Saphira as she prowled toward him.

_Saphira! _ Chagrined, Eragon turned to Arya, intending to apologize.

Arya did not seem upset. To Firnen, and to Eragon as well, she said, _If you want her to respect you, then you have to bite her in return._

She raised an eyebrow at Eragon, and he responded with a wry smile, understanding.

Firnen glanced at Arya and hesitated. He jumped back as Saphira snapped at him again. Then he roared and lifted his wings, as if to make himself appear larger, and he charged Saphira- and nipped her on a hind leg, sinking his teeth into her hide.

What Saphira felt was not pain.

Saphira and Firnen resumed circling, growling and yowling with increasing volume. Then Firnen jumped at her again. He landed on Saphira's neck and bore her head to the ground, where he held her pinned and gave her a pair of playful bites at the base of her skull.

Saphira did not struggle as fiercely as Eragon would have expected, and he guessed that she had allowed Firnen to catch her, as it was not something even Thorn had managed to do.

"The courting of dragons is no gentle affair," he said to Arya.

"Did you expect soft words and tender caresses?"

"I suppose not."

With a heave of her neck, Saphira threw Firnen off and scrambled backward. She roared and clawed at the ground with her forefeet, and then Firnen lifted his head toward the sky and loosed a rippling pennant of green fire twice the length of his own body.

"Oh!" exclaimed Arya, sounding delighted.

"What?"

"That's the first time he has breathed fire!"

Saphira released a blast of fire herself- Eragon could feel the heat from over fifty feet away- and then she crouched and jumped into the sky, climbing straight upward. Firnen followed an instant later.

Eragon stood with Arya as they watched the glittering dragons ascend into the heavens, spiraling around each other with flames streaming from their mouths. It was an awe-inspiring sight: savage and beautiful, and frightening. Eragon realized he was watching an ancient and elemental ritual, one that was part of the very fabric of nature itself and without which the land would wither and die.

His connection with Saphira grew tenuous as the distance between them increased, but he could still sense the heat of her passion, which darkened the edges of her vision and blotted out all thoughts save those driven by the instinctual need that all creatures, even the elves, are subject to.

The dragons shrank until at last they were no more than a pair of sparkling stars orbiting each other in the immensity of the sky. As far away as they were, Eragon still received a few flashes of thoughts and feelings from Saphira, and though he had experienced many such moments with the Eldunari when they had shared their memories with him, his cheeks grew hot, as did the tips of his ears, and he found himself unable to look directly at Arya.

She too seemed affected by the dragons' emotions, although differently than he; she stared after Saphira and Firnen with a faint smile, and her eyes shone brighter than usual, as if the sight of the two dragons filled her with pride and happiness.

Eragon let out a sigh, and then squatted and began to draw in the dirt with a stalk of grass.

"Well, that didn't take long," he said.

"No," said Arya.

They remained that way for a number of minutes: she standing, he squatting, and all silence around them, save for the sound of the lonely wind.

At last Eragon dared look up at Arya. She looked more beautiful than ever. But more than that, he saw his friend and ally; he saw the woman who had helped save him from Durza, and who had fought alongside him against countless enemies, who had been imprisoned with him under Dras-Leona, and who, in the end, had killed Shruikan with the Dauthdaert. He remembered what she had told him about her life in Ellesmera when she was growing up, the difficult relationship with her mother, and the many reasons that had driven her to leave Du Weldenvarden and serve as an ambassador for the elves. He thought too of the hurts she had suffered: some from her mother, others from the isolation she had experienced among the humans and the dwarves, and still more when she had lost Faolin and then endured Durza's tortures in Gil'ead.

All those things he thought of, and he felt a deep sense of connection to her, and a sadness too, and a sudden desire came upon him to capture what he saw.

While Arya meditated upon the sky, Eragon looked about until he found a piece of the slate like rock projecting from the earth. Making as little noise as possible, he dug out a slab with his fingers and brushed off the dirt until the stone was clean.

It took him a moment to remember the spells he had once used, and then to modify them so as to extract the colors needed from the earth around him. Speaking the words silently, he incanted the spell.

A stir of motion, like a swirl of muddy water, disturbed the surface of the tablet. Then colors- red, blue, green, yellow- bloomed on the slate and began to form lines and shapes even as the intermingled to form other, subtler shades. After a few seconds, an image of Arya appeared.

Once it was complete, he released the spell and studied the fairth. He was pleased with what he saw. The image seemed to be a true and honest representation of Arya, unlike the fairth he had made of her in Ellesmera. The one he held now had a depth that the other one had lacked. It was not a perfect image with regard to its composition, but he was proud that he had been able to capture so much of her character. In that one image, he had managed to sum up everything he knew about her, both the dark and the light.

He allowed himself to enjoy his sense of accomplishment for a moment more, then he threw the tablet off to the side, to break it against the ground.

"Kausta," said Arya, and the tablet curved through the air and landed in her hand.

Eragon opened his mouth, intending to explain or to apologize, but then he thought the better of it and and said nothing.

Holding up the fairth, Arya stared at it with an intent gaze. Eragon watched her closely, wondering how she would react.

A long, tense minute passed.

Then Arya lowered the fairth.

Eragon stood and held out his hand for the tablet, but she made no move to return it. She appeared troubled, and his heart sank; the fairth had upset her.

Looking him straight in the eye, she said in the ancient language, "Eragon, if you are willing, I would like to tell you my true name."

Her offer left him dumbstruck. He nodded, overwhelmed, and, with great difficulty, managed to say, "I would be honored to hear it."

Arya stepped forward and placed her lips close to his ear, and in a barely audible whisper she told him her true name. As she spoke, the name rang within his mind, and with it came a rush of understanding. Some of the name he knew already, but there were many parts that surprised him, parts that he realized must have been difficult for Arya to share.

Then Arya stepped back and waited for his response, her expression studiously blank.

Her name raised numerous questions for Eragon, but he knew that it was not the time to ask them. Rather, he needed to reassure Arya that he did not think any less highly of her because of what he had learned. Nor did he. If anything, her name had increased his regard, for she had shown him the true extent of her selflessness and her devotion to duty. He knew that if he reacted badly to her name- or even said the wrong thing without intending to- he could destroy their friendship.

He met Arya's gaze full-on and said, also in the ancient language, "Your name...your name is a good name. You should be proud of who you are. Thank you for sharing it with me. I am glad to call you my friend, and I promise that I will always keep your name safe...Will you, now, hear mine?"

She nodded. "I will. And I promise to remember and protect it for as long as it remains yours."

A sense of import came over Eragon. He knew there was no going back from what he was about to do, which he found both frightening and exhilarating. He moved forward and did as Arya had done, placing his lips by her ear and whispering his name as softly as he could. His whole being vibrated in recognition of the words.

He backed away, suddenly apprehensive. How would she judge him? Fair or foul? For judge him she would; she could not help it.

Arya released a long breath and looked at the sky for a while. When she turned to him again, her expression was softer than before. "You have a good name as well, Eragon," she said in a low voice. "However, I do not think it is the name you had when you left Palancar Valley."

"No."

"Nor do I think it is the name you bore during your time in Ellesmera. You've grown much since we first met."

"I've had to."  
>She nodded. "You are still young, but you are no longer a child."<p>

"No. That I am not."

More than ever, Eragon felt drawn to her. The exchange of names had formed a bond between them, but of what sort he was unsure, and his uncertainty left him with a sense of vulnerability. She had seen him with all his flaws and she had not recoiled, but had accepted him as he was, even as he accepted her. Moreover, she had seen in his name the depth of his feelings for her, and that too had not driven her away.

He debated whether to say anything on the subject, but he could not let it go. After gathering up his courage, he said, "Arya, what is to become of us?"

He hesitated, but he could see that his meaning was clear to her. Choosing her words with care, she said, "I don't know...Once, as you know, I would have said, 'nothing,' but...Again, you are still young, and humans often change their minds. In ten years, or even five, you may no longer feel as you now do."

"My feelings won't change," he said with utter certainty, aware that he was speaking in the ancient language.

She searched his face for a long, tense while. Then he saw a change in her eyes, and she said, "If they don't, then...perhaps in time..." She put a hand on the side of his jaw. "You cannot ask more of me now. I do not want to make a mistake with you, Eragon. You are too important for that, both to me and to the whole of Alagaesia. Besides, we must find a safe place for the eggs to hatch and where we can begin to teach the new generation of Dragon Riders."

A tingling sensation of joy spread through Eragon. She had not refused him. That alone made him want to jump into the air and shout.

"Then I am willing to wait," he said.


	6. A Place To Start

Nasuada waited for Murtagh, Arya, and Eragon to arrive in a private study behind the throne room where she usually retreated after a taxing day. Elva and the werecat Yelloweyes were with her. The room had fallen into a peaceful silence, broken only by the light noise of Elva's needle as she embroidered and the werecat's rhythmic purring.

Outside the sun was hovering just over the horizon. Nasuada felt the werecat rise from her lap and lumber over to a padded stool where the last remains of the warm sun shown in. A smile came to her lips. Although the werecats had the ability to speak, they were not much different than a regular cat in their habits. A patch of sun had just as much appeal to them as did any ordinary cat.

Less than three hours ago Arya had contacted her through one of the enchanted mirrors saying that they were within sight of Ilirea and would be coming to report to her after getting a warm meal and a bath.

It had been over a month since the three of them had left with their respective dragons to look for a suitable place for the rearing of hatchlings, the training of new Riders, and a safe place for the Eldunari to dwell. As the days had slipped past Nasuada began to worry that their search would be in vain. For an area to even be acceptable it had to be a neutral tract of land, free of claims by any race. It had to be easily protected from within. And there must be large amounts of food available to both the dragons and Riders who would live within it's borders. Ideally, it would consist of both forests and deserts.

As Nasuada's mind wandered, her attention came back to the Urgals and the problem they presented. She had thought of many ideas on how to keep the next generation from causing mischief in the attempt to win glory for themselves but, nothing seemed permanent. The answer would come, as she knew it always did, but at the moment she had nothing. She would definitely discuss it with the Dragon Riders after they told her how their mission had fared.

About a half an hour later Eragon, Arya, and Murtagh entered the room, their hair still wet from their baths. Nasuada rose and greeted them all in turn before everyone found a comfortable place. Eragon sat in a large chair that almost made him seem small in comparison. The couch Elva was sitting on had enough room for Arya as well, while Murtagh preferred to stand with his back toward the fire.

"How did you mission go? Did you find a suitable place?" Nasuada asked eagerly.

"Our mission went well and as for a place, we did find a location we could all agree on." replied Eragon. "But it won't be as easy as I had hoped."

"How so?" A trace of apprehension played across her face.

"For all our searching we could find no place in Alagaesia that would meet all our requirements."

After clearing her throat Arya added, "We ventured east, going across large stretches of water, out of Alagaesia entirely."

"With the help of the Eldunari we were able to find a large island that is perfectly suited to our needs. It's a four day journey in clear weather and impossible to reach without the help of an elder Eldunari or a boat, as the island is far out in the ocean." continued Eragon.

Speaking up from where he was standing, Murtagh said, "By ship, the trip would be at least a fortnight."

Nasuada leaned forward, "No one would be able to attack it without great strength then."

"No." Murtagh confirmed.

"It is large enough to allow the wild dragons to live and grow, then?"

"More than enough," said Eragon, "and it had a diverse landscape. There was a sandy beach on the northern coast, sloping foothills in the east, and a dense forest to the south."

"Thorn and I also saw a fresh water spring in the foothills," added Murtagh.

Nasuada considered for a moment. She wet her lips and tried to think of every alternative. She wished they could have found something closer than hundreds of leagues outside Alagaesia but she also knew their decision was not made in haste. If there had been a better location that happened to be closer they would have jumped at the chance.

"It's so far away," she managed to say.

Eragon nodded, and looked down. "Yes. But every other place we've looked at has been difficult to defend, claimed by another race, or too well known to be a reasonable option."

Although she knew all this, Nasuada still wished it were not so. With both their duties it would have been difficult enough if they had only been miles away. But thousands? Their contact would most likely never be in person. "How will the Riders protect Alagaesia if they aren't even _in _it?"

Shifting in her seat Arya answered, "During our travels we discussed this and came to an agreement on how to handle this."

"What was your decision?"

"I will fly to Ellesmera and begin preparing for our departure while Eragon and Murtagh fly to Vroengard to retrieve the eggs and remaining Eldunari. Once they fetch the eggs and Eldunari they will fly to Ellesmera. Eragon and I will then sail to the island where we will begin building the new capital of the Riders."

Arya paused, as if gathering her thoughts and then continued. "We will leave two eggs and five Eldunari with Murtagh, who will see to it that the eggs are exposed to the children of all the races until they hatch. Once the dragon and new Rider have bonded he will begin their training until they are three months old. The Eldunari will aid him in this and once the three months has passed, he will take the new Riders to Ellesmera. Once they arrive, the new Riders will board a ship along with a dozen elves who will guide and protect them until they reach the island, at which point Eragon and I will begin their training in full. We will entrust two more eggs to the elves who will give them to Murtagh after arriving again in Ellesmera."

"This way," said Eragon, "a Dragon Rider will still be in Alagaesia. With the help of five Eldunari, Murtagh should be able to confront any problems that will arise in the near future. As soon as the first set of Riders have completed their training we will send them back to Alagaesia and they will fall under Murtagh's leadership."

Her gaze drifted toward Murtagh and she saw that he looked content, as if pleased with the plan and his duty in it. Looking back to Eragon and Arya she asked, "Will I ever see you two again?" She had tried to steady her voice and veil the sadness but, without much success.

"I'll bind one of the mirrors in your study with a mirror of my own, so that you will always be able to reach us, and I'll do the same for Roran and Katrina." Eragon said. He looked sad as well but, there was also an excitement in his tone that Nasuada guessed came from the thrill of the unknown.

After a moment of silence Nasuada looked back to Eragon. "Even though I wish circumstances where different, I approve. When do you plan on leaving?"

"Within the next two days," answered Arya.

"So soon?" Nasuada's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"There's no reason to wait longer. And the eggs on Vroengard have been in their shells long enough."

With a nod of her head, Nasuada said, "I'm going to miss you both very much."

"And we you," replied Eragon.

As Eragon and Arya started to get up Nasuada raised her hand. "I have one more question." When they had settled back into their seats she said, "Have you come up with any ideas on how to deal with the Urgals? Everything I think of doesn't seem to cure the problem entirely."

Eragon looked around to see if anyone else made a move to speak. When no one did, he looked at her and said slowly, "I have an idea but I'm not sure it will work."

"Well, I would like to hear it anyway," said Nasuada.

She listened closely as he spoke. When Eragon finished, Nasuada was quiet for a while as she thought of the implications. "Are you sure it's wise?"

Eragon shrugged, "Not entirely, but I think we should try."

"The dwarves as well? Is that really necessary?"

"I believe it's only fair. And it will help maintain the balance among the races."

"What if they don't agree?"

"I'm sure they will."

"Hmm. Then see to it. It seems the best thing so far. If we don't do something, twenty, thirty years from now, we may be facing many of the problems we have just overcome."

Nodding, Eragon asked, "Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

Nasuada thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

Once on their feet, Eragon and Arya made their way to the door. As they walked Eragon said, "We are going to begin making arrangements for our departure."

"Take whatever you need," replied Nasuada. When the door closed she looked to where Elva had been sitting on a comfortable couch. The girl now lay fast asleep with Yelloweyes purring beside her. Clutched in her hand was the piece of embroidery, yet unfinished.

"Did anything of note happen while I was gone?" asked Murtagh as he seated himself in the chair Eragon had occupied moments before. His dark hair was mostly dry now, framing the sides of his face. He looked relaxed, although a faint darkness still hung around his eyes that betrayed his subjugated servitude to Galbatorix. It had taken many months before people stopped staring openly at him every time he went into the city. Not that they trusted him now, but over time his presence became more common place and less fearful to others. That time had been hard for Murtagh and Nasuada was glad that it was over. Jeod had become a close friend to him as they worked together in filtering through Galbatorix's library. Their relationship had helped Murtagh very much as Jeod never treated him differently than anyone else.

"No. Not a single chance to test your wards presented itself." The day after Galbatorix's death Murtagh had asked Nasuada if he could put special wards around her that he thought were important and she had accepted.

A smile crept across Murtagh's face and he said, "Good."

During the last few months, when neither of them had other duties, it had become a habit of theirs to sit and talk together before going to their respective rooms. The habit had started almost on it's own. Nasuada couldn't pin when it actually began. Just that it _had._ Most nights they would talk about the days events. Occasionally, Nasuada would ask his opinion on an issue she was having trouble resolving. His knowledge of inter-workings regarding politics in that area was invaluable at times and it saved her many a conflict. In one situation she had wished to stop the sporadic ransacking of a nearby farm and he was able to tell her who was mostly likely behind it and what the cause of the dispute was. Using that information she had been able to find the earl behind the raids and punish him for his misdeeds.

Visiting with him helped her release the stress that came with her position as Queen of the Empire. Her father was the only other person she had ever had such ease in talking to.

"How is your training with the Eldunari?" The things Murtagh often told her amazed and captivated her attention. The depth of their wisdom was much more than she had expected. Not that Nasuada had thought the Eldunari were ignorant but the concepts stretched far beyond her wildest imagination.

"Overwhelming, as always. What Galbatorix taught me was just a scratch on the surface." For the next ten minutes Murtagh spoke of what the Eldunari taught him that morning.

As Nasuada listened, her thoughts wandered back to when she was a prisoner in the the Hall of the Soothsayer and of the time Murtagh had asked her to forgive him. Then, she could not grant his request. The pain was too fresh for her to look at the situation objectively. But now, as she listened to him speak, she realized that she could forgive him, and more than that, she wanted to.

She hadn't expected herself to ever be able to forgive the person who had caused her so much torment. At the time she had known he saved her life but, when faced with Galbatorix himself, that seemed trifling.

Their discussion went on for at least another hour as Murtagh continued to tell her about what he was learning.

Once he concluded, she asked, "When you return from Vroengard, where will you keep the eggs?"

"I planned on casting the same spell as Eragon did with the Eldunari. That way no one will be able to see them, and they will be with me at all times. Eragon, Arya, and I plan to speak to King Dathedr with the hopes that he will give us three elves per egg. If Dathedr agrees I will allow them to protect the eggs as they see fit."

"Ah. I had thought of using one of the elven towers to store them but, it would be obvious we had something of value there, which could be dangerous. No, it's much better that you keep them with you." Nasuada replied. "Are you pleased with the arrangement you, Eragon, and Arya, decided upon?"

"Yes, and no. I'm glad we found a suitable place to raise new Riders but, I'm not sure I'm ready to teach others. I have much to sort through. But, I will have help from the Eldunari and that is some comfort."

Nasuada nodded. After a moment, she turned to Murtagh and said, "Do you remember when you asked if I could forgive you in the Hall of the Soothsayer?" she asked.

Pain crossed Murtagh's face before he masked it with his previous blank expression. His voice betrayed more than his face when he said, "Yes," in a tense tone.

"At the time I could not forgive you. But I wanted to tell you that, now, I can."

He jerked his head up to look at her. She could see that he was surprised but, there was a hint of suspicion in his expression. "Thank you," He said in a low voice as he looked back down at his lap. Nasuada could see a gleam in his eye which reflected the warm firelight giving it the appearance of liquid gold.

"You are the first person to ever forgive me." He said hoarsely. Nasuada felt her chest tighten when she thought of all the burdens he carried in his life. Bearing the weight of crimes you had been forced to commit, with no hope of ever being forgiven, was a terrible way to live.

She reached her hand out and touched Murtagh on the knee. Their eyes met, his questioning.

"I meant it." Nasuada said.

"I know you did." Murtagh said gratefully. He let out a sigh, and it seemed to Nasuada that it released more than just air.


	7. Blood Price

After leaving the room, Eragon parted with Arya and went down a flight of steps on his way toward the main entrance of the building where he happened upon the herbalist, Angela, sitting cross-legged in the dark alcove of a door. She was knitting what appeared to be a blue and white hat with strange runes along its hem, the meaning of which was lost on him. Next to her lay Solembum, his head propped up in her lap and one of his heavy paws resting atop her right knee.

Eragon stopped, surprised. He had not seen either of them since- it took him a moment to remember- since shortly after the battle in Uru'baen. Thereafter, they had seemed to disappear.

"Greetings," said Angela without looking up.

"Greetings," replied Eragon. "What are you doing here?"

"Knitting a hat."

"That I can see, but why here?"

"Because I wanted to see you." Her needles clacked with a swift regularity, their motion as entrancing as the flames of a fire. "I heard tell that you, Saphira, Arya, Firnen, the eggs and Eldunari are leaving Alagaesia."

"As you predicted," he retorted, frustrated that she had been able to discover what ought to have been the deepest secret. She could not have eavesdropped on their conversation- his wards would have prevented it- and so far as he knew, no one had told her or Solembum about the existence of the eggs or the Eldunari.

"Well, yes, but I didn't think to see you off."

"How did you find out? Did Arya tell you?"

"Her? Ha! Hardly. No, I have my own ways of gathering information." She paused in her knitting and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. "Not that I'll share them with you. I have to keep _some_ secrets, after all."

"Humph."

"Humph yourself. If you're going to be that way, I'm not sure why I bothered coming."

Eragon smiled and then said, "I'm sorry." After a moment, Eragon said, "Why did you want to see me?"

"I _wanted _to say farewell and to wish you luck on your journey."

"Thank you."

"Mmh. Try not to let yourself get too wrapped up in your head wherever you settle. Make sure you get out in the sun often enough."

"I will. What of you and Solembum? Will you stay here for a while and watch over Elva? You mentioned you would."

"Mostly likely for a while. But, I get board easily. Where exciting things are happening is the place to be."

Eragon hesitated for a moment and then said, "Would you like to come with Saphira and me?"

Solembum opened one eye and studied him for a second before closing it again.

"That's very kind of you," said Angela, "but I think we will decline. At least, for the time being. Sitting around guarding the Eldunari and training new Riders seems boring...although, raising a clutch of dragons is sure to prove exciting. But no; I want to keep an eye on Elva for the next few years. However, I will say, be assured, I may show up if something interesting begins to happen."

"Haven't you had your fill of interesting events?"

"Never. They're the spice of life." She held up her half-finished hat. "How do you like it?"

"It's nice. The blue is pretty. But what do the runes say?"

"Raxacori- Oh, never mind. It wouldn't mean anything to you anyway. Safe travels to you and Saphira, Eragon. And remember to watch out for earwigs and wild hamsters. Ferocious things, wild hamsters."

He smiled despite himself. "Safe travels to you as well, and to you, Solembum."

The werecat's eye opened again. _Safe travels, Kingkiller._

Just as Eragon turned to leave, a thought came to him about what Nasuada had told him regarding the Hall of the Soothsayer. Galbatorix had said, "She sat where you now lie, and she whiled away the centuries dreaming of all that had been and all that might be."

Turning back to Angela, Eragon asked suspiciously, "Are you the Soothsayer?"

Still looking at her knitting she answered, "If I _were _the Soothsayer, would it make any difference?" Then she chuckled and said, "I have been a great many things in my life, Eragon."

After a moment of waiting, Eragon realized she was finished with their conversation and so he left, still thinking.

Once Eragon was outside he picked his way through the city until he arrived at the house where Jeod and his wife, Helen, now lived. It was a stately hall, with high walls, a large garden, and bowing servants stationed within the entryway. Helen had done exceedingly well. By provisioning the Varden- and now Nasuada's kingdom- with much needed supplies, she had quickly built up a trading company larger than the one Jeod had once owned in Teirm.

Eragon found Jeod washing up in preparation for their evening meal. After refusing an offer to dine with them, Eragon spent a few minutes talking with Jeod, the same things he had explained to Nasuada. At first Jeod was surprised and somewhat upset, but in the end, he agreed that it was necessary for the dragons well being that they leave. As with the herbalist, Eragon also invited Jeod to accompany them.

"You tempt me sorely," said Jeod. "But my place in here. I have my work, and for the first time in a long while, Helen is happy. Ilirea has become our home, and neither of us wants to pick and move elsewhere."

Eragon nodded, understanding.

"But you...you're going to travel where few but the dragons or Riders have ever gone. Tell me, do you know what lies to the east? Is there another sea?"

"If you travel far enough."

"And before that?"

Eragon shrugged. "Empty land for the most part, or so the Eldunari say, and I have no reason to think that's changed in the past century. The island we choose isn't even the farthest you can go."

Then Jeod moved closer to him and lowered his voice. "Since your are leaving...I will tell you this. Do you remember when I told you about the Arcaena, the order devoted to preserving knowledge throughout Alagaesia?"

Eragon nodded. "You said that Heslant the Monk belonged to them."

"As do I." At Eragon's look of surprise, Jeod made a sheepish gesture and ran his hand though his hair. "I joined them long ago, when I was young and looking for a cause to serve. I've provided them with information and manuscripts throughout the years, and they've helped me in return. Anyway, I thought you should know. Brom was the only other person I've told."

"Not even Helen?"

"Not even her...Anyway, when I finish writing my account of you and Saphira and the rise of the Varden, I'll send it to our monastery in the Spine, and it will be included as a number of new chapters in _Domia abr Wyrda._ Your story will not be forgotten, Eragon; that much, at least, I can promise you."

Eragon found the knowledge strangely affecting. "Thank you," he said, and grasped Jeod by the forearm.

"And you, Eragon Shadeslayer."

Afterward, Eragon made his way back to the hall, where he and Saphira had been living along with Roran and Katrina, who were waiting to eat with him. Although he had eaten a few hours before, his stomach felt empty and he realized he was more nervous about leaving than he had thought. Good food with family was a soothing thing, though.

All through supper, the talk was of Arya and Firnen. Eragon held his tongue about their plans for departure until after the food was gone and the three of them- and the baby- had retired to a room overlooking the courtyard, where Saphira lay napping with Firnen. There they sat drinking wine and tea and watching the stars.

When an appropriate amount of time had passed, Eragon broached the subject. As he expected, Katrina and Roran reacted with dismay and tried to convince him to change his mind. It took Eragon nearly an hour to lay out his reasons to them, for they argued every point and refused to concede until he answered their objections in exacting detail.

Finally, Roran said, "Blast it, your family! You can't leave!"

"I have to. You know it as well as I do; you just don't want to admit it."

Roran stuck his fist against the table between them and then strode over to the open window, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

The baby squalled, and Katrina said, "Shh, now," and patted her on the back.

Eragon joined Roran. "I know it isn't what you want. Had we found a place any closer I would have settled there but, I have no choice."

"Of course you have a choice. You of all people have a choice."

"Aye, and this is the right thing to do."

Roran grunted and crossed his arms.

Behind them, Katrina said, "If you leave, you won't be able to be an uncle to Ismira. Is she supposed to grow up without ever knowing you?"

"No," said Eragon, going back to her. "I'll still be able to talk with her, and I'll see to it that she's well protected; I may even be able to send her presents from time to time." He knelt and held out a finger, and the girl wrapped a hand around it and tugged with precocious strength.

"But you won't be here."

"No...I won't be here." Eragon gently extricated his finger from Ismira's grip and returned to stand by Roran. "You could join me."

The muscles in Roran's jaw shifted. "And give up Palancar Valley?" He shook his head. "Horst and the others are already preparing to return. We'll rebuild Carvahall as the finest town in the whole Spine. You could help; it would be like before."

"I wish I could."

Below, Saphira uttered a throaty gurgle and nuzzled the side of Firnen's neck. The green dragon snuggled closer to her.

In a low voice, Roran said, "Is there no other way, Eragon?"

"Not that any of us can think of."

"Blast it- it's not right. You should have to go live by yourself in the wilderness."

"I won't be entirely alone."

Roran made an impatient gesture. "You know what I mean." He gnawed on the corner of his mustache and leaned on his hands against the stone lip underneath the window. Eragon could see the sinews in his thick forearms knotting and flexing. Then Roran looked at him and said, "What will you do once you get to wherever you're going?"

"Find a hill or a cliff and build a hall atop it: a hall large enough to house all the dragons and keep them safe. And you? Once you rebuild the village, what then?"

A faint smile appeared on Roran's face. "Something similar. With the tribute from the valley, I plan to build a castle atop that hill we always talked about. Not a big castle, mind you; just a bit of stonework with a wall, enough to hold off any Urgals who might decide to attack. It'll probably take a few years, but then we'll have a proper way to defend ourselves, unlike when the Ra'zac came with the soldiers." He cast a sideways glance at Eragon. "We'd have room for a dragon as well."

"Would you have room for _two_ dragons?" Eragon gestured toward Saphira and Firnen.

"Maybe not," replied Roran with a chuckle.

The starlight accentuated the planes of Roran's face; somewhat to Eragon's surprise, he saw the beginnings of lines and wrinkles on his cousin's browand around his eyes. He found signs of encroaching age sobering. _How quickly life passes._

Katrina laid Ismira in a cradle. Then she joined them at the window and placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "We'll miss you, Eragon."

"I will miss you too," he said, and touched her hand. "We don't have to say goodbye quite yet, though. I'd like the three of you to come with us to Ellesmera. You would enjoy seeing it, I think, and that way we could spend another few days together."

Roran swiveled his head toward Eragon. "We can't travel all the way to Du Weldenvarden with Ismira. She's too young. Returning to Palancar Valley is going to be difficult enough; a side trip to Ellesmera is out of the question."

"Not even if it was on dragonback?" Eragon laughed at their surprised expressions. "Arya and Firnen have agreed to carry you to Ellesmera while Saphira and I fetch the dragons eggs with Murtagh and Thorn."

"How long would the flight to Ellesmera take?" asked Roran, frowning.

"A few days. You would be warm and safe the whole while. Ismira wouldn't be in any danger."

Katrina looked at Roran, and he at her, and she said, "It would be nice to see Eragon off, and I've always heard tell of how beautiful the elves' cities are..."

"Are you sure you would be up to it?" asked Roran.

She nodded. "As long as you're there with us."

Roran was silent for a moment; then he said, "Well, I suppose Horst and the others can go on ahead without us." A smile appeared under his beard, and he chuckled. "I never thought to see Du Weldenvarden, let alone stand in one of the elves' cities, but why not, eh? We might as well while we have the chance."

"Good, that's settled, then," said Katrina, beaming. "We're going to Du Weldenvarden."

"How will we get back?" asked Roran.

"On Thorn," said Eragon. "Or I'm sure King Dathedr would give you guards to escort you to Palancar Valley, if Arya asked him too. That is, if you would prefer to travel by horse."

Roran grimaced. "No, not by horse. If I never have to ride another horse in my life, it would be too soon by half."

"Oh? Then I take it you don't want Snowfire anymore?" said Eragon, raising an eyebrow as he named the stallion he had given Roran.

"You know what I mean. I'm glad to have Snowfire, even if I haven't had need of him for a while."

"Mm-hmm."

They stood by the window for another hour or so- as the star wheeled overhead- planning their upcoming trip and discussing the things Arya, Eragon and their two dragons would need to take with them when they left Du Weldenvarden. Behind them, Ismira slept peacefully in her cradle, her hands balled up into tiny fists beneath her chin.

Early the next morning, Eragon used the polished silver mirror in his room to contact Orik in Tronjheim. He had to wait for a few minutes, but eventually Orik's face appeared before him, the dwarf running an ivory comb through his unbraided beard.

"Eragon!" Orik exclaimed with obvious delight. "How are you? It's been too long since last we spoke."

Feeling a bit guilty, Eragon agreed. Then he told Orik of his decision to leave and the reasons why. Orik stopped combing and listened without interrupting, his expression serious throughout.

When Eragon finished, Orik said, "I will be sad to see you go, but I agree, this is what you must do. I have thought about this myself- worried about where the dragons might live- but I kept my concerns to myself, for the dragons have as much right to share the land as we do, even if we do not like it when they eat our Feldunost and burn our villages. However, raising them elsewhere will be for the best."

"I am glad you approve," said Eragon. He talked to Orik about his idea for the Urgals, then, which involved the dwarves as well. This time Orik asked many questions, and Eragon could see that he was doubtful about the proposal.

After a long silence wherein Orik stared down into his beard, the dwarf said, "If you had asked this of any of the grimstnzborithn before me, they would have said no. Had you asked me at any time before we invaded the Empire, I would also have said no. But now, after having fought alongside the Urgals, and after having seen in person how helpless we were before Murtagh and Thorn and Galbatorix and that monster Shruikan...now I no longer feel the same." He gazed up through his bushy eyebrows at Eragon. "It may cost me mine crown, but on behalf of Knurlan everywhere I will accept- for their own good, whether or not they realize it."

Again Eragon felt proud to have Orik as his foster brother. "Thank you," he said.

Orik grunted. "My people never desired this, but I am grateful for it. When will we know?"

"Within a few days. A week at the most."

"Will we feel anything?"

"Maybe. I'll ask Arya. Either way, I'll contact you again once it's done."

"Good. Then we will speak later. Safe travels and sound stone, Eragon."

"May Helzvog watch over you."

The following day, they departed Ilirea.

It was a private event, devoid of fanfare, for which Eragon was grateful. Nasuada, Jormundur, Jeod, and Elva met them outside the city's southern gate, where Saphira and Firnen sat side by side, pushing their heads against one another while Eragon and Arya inspected their saddles. Off to Eragon's right stood Murtagh adjusting Thorn's saddle as well. Roran and Katrina arrived a few minutes later: Katrina carrying Ismira swaddled in a blanket, and Roran carrying two packs full of blankets, food, and other supplies, one slung over each shoulder.

Roran gave his packs to Arya, and she tied them atop Firnen's saddlebags.

Then Eragon and Saphira said their last farewells, which was harder for Eragon than for Saphira. His were not the only eyes with tears, however; both Nasuada and Jeod wept as they embraced him and offered him and Saphira their good wishes. Nasuada also said farewell to Roran, and she again thanked him for his help against the Empire.

Arya was the most composed but, Eragon still could see a sadness on her face as she said goodbye to Nasuada. Once he had seen her look over the land, as if she were fixing it into her memory.

At last, as Eragon, Arya, Roran, Katrina, and Murtagh were about to climb onto the dragons, a woman called out, "Hold there!"

Eragon paused with his foot atop Saphira's right foreleg and looked to see Birgit striding toward them from the city gates, gray skirts billowing, and her young son, Nolfavrell, trailing after her with a helpless expression on his face. In one hand, Birgit carried a drawn sword. In the other, a round wooden shield.

Eragon's stomach sank.

Nasuada's guards moved to intercept the two of them, but Roran shouted, "Let them pass!"

Nasuada signaled to the guards and they stepped aside.

Without slowing, Birgit walked over to Roran.

"Birgit, please don't," said Katrina in a low voice, but the other woman ignored her. Arya watched them unblinkingly, her hand on her sword. Eragon saw Murtagh look at him with a confused look on his face.

"Stronghammer. I always said that I would have by compensation form you for my husband's death, and now I have come to claim it, as is my right. Will you fight me, or will you pay the debt that is yours?"

Eragon went to stand by Roran. "Birgit, why are you doing this? Why now? Can't you forgive him and let old sorrows rest?"

_Do you want me to eat her? _Asked Saphira.

_Not yet._

Birgit ignored him and kept her gaze fixed on Roran.

"Mother," said Nolfavrell, tugging on her skirts, but she showed no reaction to his plea.

Nasuada joined them. "I know you," she said to Birgit. "You fought with the men during the war."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"What quarrel have you with Roran? He has proved himself a fine and valuable warrior on more than one occasion, and I would be most displeased to lose him."

"He and his family were responsible for the soldiers killing my husband." She looked at Nasuada for a moment. "The Ra'zac _ate _him, Your Majesty. They ate him and they sucked the marrow from his bones. I cannot forgive that, and I_ will _have my compensation for it."

"It was not Roran's fault," said Nasuada. "This is unreasonable, and I forbid it."

"No, it's not," said Eragon, though he hated to. "By our custom, she has the right to demand a blood price from everyone who was responsible for Quimby's death."

"But it wasn't Roran's fault!" exclaimed Katrina.

"But it was," said Roran in a low voice. "I could have turned myself over to the soldiers. I could have led them away. Or I could have attacked. But I didn't. I chose to hide, and Quimby died as a result." He glanced at Nasuada. "This is a matter we must settle among ourselves, Your Majesty. It is a matter of honor, even as the Trial of the Long Knives was for you."

Nasuada frowned and looked at Eragon. He nodded, so with reluctance, she stepped back.

"What will it be, Stronghammer?" asked Birgit.

"Eragon and I killed the Ra'zac in Helgrind," said Roran. "Is that not enough?"

Birgit shook her head, he determination never wavering. "No."

Roran paused then, the muscles in his neck rigid. "Is this what you really want, Birgit?"

"It is."

"Then I will pay my debt."

As Roran spoke, Katrina uttered a wail and thrust herself between him and Birgit, still holding their daughter in her arms. "I won't let you! You can't have him! Not now! Not after everything we've gone through!"

Birgit's face remained as stone, and she made no move to retreat. Likewise, Roran showed no emotion as he grasped Katrina by the waist and, without apparent effort, lifted her off to the side. "Hold her, will you?" he said to Eragon in a cold voice.

"Roran..."

His cousin gave him a flat stare, then turned back to Birgit.

Eragon grabbed hold of Katrina's shoulders to keep her from flinging herself after Roran, and he exchanged a helpless look with Arya. She glanced toward her sword, and he shook his head.

"Let go of me! Let go!" shouted Katrina. In her arms, the baby began to scream.

Never taking his eyes off the woman before him, Roran undid his belt and dropped it to the ground, along with his dagger and his hammer, which the Varden had found in the streets of Ilirea soon after Galbatorix's death. Then Roran pulled open the front of his tunic and bared his hair-covered chest.

"Eragon, remove my wards," he said.

"I-"

"Remove them!"

"Roran, no!" shouted Katrina. "Defend yourself."

_He's mad,_ thought Eragon, but he dared not interfere. If he stopped Birgit, he would shame Roran, and the people of Palancar Valley would lose all respect for his cousin. And Roran, Eragon knew, would rather die than allow that to happen.

Nevertheless, Eragon had no intention of letting Birgit kill Roran. He would let her have her price, but no more. Speaking softly in the ancient language- so that none might hear the words he used- he did as Roran asked, but he also placed three new wards upon his cousin: one to protect the spine within his neck from being severed; one to keep his skull form being broken; and one to safeguard his organs. All else Eragon felt confident he could heal if necessary, as long as Birgit did not start cutting off limbs.

"It is done." he said.

Roran nodded and to Birgit said, "Take your price of me, then, and let this be an end to the quarrel between us."

"You will not fight me?"

"No."

Birgit eyed him for a moment; then she threw her shield onto the ground, crossed the few remaining feet that separated her from Roran, and placed the edge of her sword against Roran's breast. In a voice loud enough for only Roran to her- though Eragon and Arya did as well with their catlike acuity- she said, "I loved Quimby. He was my life, and he died because of you."

"I'm sorry," Roran whispered.

"Birgit," pleaded Katrina. "Please..."

No one moved, not even the dragons. Eragon found himself holding his breath. The hiccuping crying of the baby was the loudest sound.

Then Birgit lifted the sword from Roran's breast. She reached down to take his right hand and drew the edge of the sword across his palm. Roran winced as the blade cut into his hand, but he did not pull away.

A crimson line appeared upon his skin. Blood filled his palm and spilled dripping to the ground, where it soaked into the trampled earth, leaving a dark blotch upon the dirt. Birgit ceased pulling on the sword and held it motionless against Roran's palm for a moment more. Then she stepped back and lowered the scarlet-edged sword to her side. Roran closed his fingers around his palm, blood flowing between them, and pressed his hand against his hip.

"I have had my price," said Birgit. "Our quarrel is at an end."

Then she turned, picked up her shield, and strode back to the city, with Nolfavrell dogging her heels.

Eragon released Katrina, and she rushed to Roran's side. "You fool," she said, a bitter note in her voice. "You stubborn, pigheaded fool. Here, let me see."

"It was the only way," said Roran, as if from far away.

Katrina frowned, her face hard and strained as she examined the cut on his hand. "Eragon, you should heal this."

"No," said Roran with sudden sharpness. He closed his hand again. "No, this is one scar I'll keep." He looked around. "Is there a strip of fabric I can use as a bandage?"

After a moment of confusion, Nasuada pointed to one of her guards and said, "Cut off the bottom part of your tunic and give it to him."

"Wait," said Eragon as Roran stared to wrap the strip around his hand. "I won't heal it, but at least let me cast a spell to keep the cut from getting infected, all right?"

Roran hesitated. Then he nodded and held out his hand toward Eragon.

It took Eragon only a few seconds to mouth the spell. "There," he said. "Now it won't turn green and purple and swell up as large as a pig's bladder."

Roran grunted, and Katrina said, "Thank you, Eragon."

"Now, shall we leave?" asked Arya.

The six of them climbed onto the dragons, Arya helping Roran and Katrina safely into the saddle on Firnen's back, which had been modified with loops and straps to hold additional passengers. Once they were properly seated atop the green dragon, Arya raised a hand. "Farewell, Nasuada! Farewell, Eragon and Saphira! Farewell Murtagh and Thorn! We will expect you in Ellesmera!"

_Farewell! _said Firnen in his deep voice. He spread his wings and jumped skyward, flapping quickly to lift the weigh of the four people on his back, helped by the strength of the two Eldunari Arya was taking with her.

Saphira roared after him, and Firnen replied with a trumpeted bugle before arrowing his way toward the north and the distant forest of Du Weldenvarden.

Eragon twisted around in his saddle and waved to Nasuada, Elva, Jormundur, and Jeod. They waved in return, and Jormundur shouted, "Best of luck to the four of you!"

"Goodbye," cried Elva.

"Goodbye!" shouted Nasuada. "Be safe!"

Eragon replied in kind, and then he turned his back to them, unable to bear the sight any longer. Saphira crouched underneath him and sprang into the air as they began the first leg of their long, long journey.

Saphira circled as she gained altitude. Below, Eragon saw Thorn crouch as well and take off with Murtagh on his back. Nasuada and the others stood in a clump by the city walls, and Elva held up a small white kerchief, which fluttered in the gusts of wind from Thorn's take off.


	8. Promises, New And Old

From Ilirea, Eragon and Murtagh flew to the nearby estate where Blodhgarm and the elves under his command were packing the Eldunari for transport. The elves would ride north with the Eldunari to Du Weldenvarden, and thence through the vast forest to the elven city of Silthrim, which sat upon the shore of Ardwen Lake. There the elves and the Eldunari would wait for Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira and Thorn to return from Vroengard. Then together Eragon, Saphira, Arya, Firnen, and the elves would begin their journey out of Alagaesia, following the Gaena River as it flowed eastward through the forest and onto the plains beyond. All of them, that was, save Laufin and Uthinare, who had elected to stay behind in Du Weldenvarden.

The elves' decision to accompany them had surprised Eragon, but he was grateful for it nevertheless. As Blodhgarm had said, "We cannot abandon the Eldunari. They need our help, as will the younglings once they hatch."

Eragon and Saphira spent a half hour discussing the safe transport of the eggs with Blodhgarm while Murtagh helped the other elves prepare the Eldunari for travel. Then Eragon gathered up the Eldunari of Glaedr, Umaroth, and several of the older dragons; he, Saphira, Murtagh, and Thorn would need their strength on Vroengard.

Upon taking their leave of the elves, Murtagh and Eragon set off to the northwest, Saphira and Thorn flapping at a steady, unhurried pace compared with that of Eragon and Saphira's first trip to Vroengard.

As they flew, a sadness fell upon Eragon, and for a time he felt despondent and self-pitying. Saphira too was sad, but the day was bright and the winds were calm, and their spirits soon lifted. Still, a faint sense of loss colored everything Eragon beheld, and he gazed at the land with renewed appreciation, knowing that he would likely never seen it again.

He was glad Murtagh and Thorn were with them. Just by being there they helped Eragon feel not so alone but, he also knew there would be a time when they would have to part ways as well.

Many leagues across the verdant grasslands Saphira and Thorn flew, their shadows frightening the birds and the beasts below. When night came, they did not continue onward, but stopped and made camp by a rivulet that lay at the bottom of a shallow gully and sat watching the stars turning above them, talking of all that had been and all that might be. As they talked Eragon learned many new things about Murtagh that made him respect him in a way Eragon never thought he would. Eragon felt sure Murtagh would be a good leader of the Riders in Alagaesia even if Murtagh himself didn't think so.

Late the next day, they arrived at the Urgal village that had sprung up near the lake Flam, Eragon knew they would find Nar Garzhvog and the Herndall, the council of dams who ruled their people there. At first the Urgals had been weary of Thorn and Murtagh but, after Eragon swore to them in the ancient language that he would not hurt them and had Murtagh do the same, they seemed less aloof.

Despite Eragon's protests, the Urgals insisted upon throwing an enormous feast of them, so he spent the evening drinking with Garzhvog and his rams. The Urgals made a wine out of berries and tree bark that Eragon thought was even stronger than the strongest of the dwarves' mead. Saphira enjoyed it more than he- to him, it tasted like cherries gone bad- but he drank it anyway to please their hosts. Thorn, however, took to it immediately and emptied many barrels, after which he curled into a cat like position and stayed there most of the night.

Many of the female Urgals came up to him, Murtagh, Thorn and Saphira, curious to meet them, as few of the Urgal women had joined in the fight against the Empire. They were somewhat slimmer than their men but just as tall, and their horns tended to be shorter and more delicate, although still massive. With them were Urgal children: the younger ones lacking horns, the older ones with scaly nubs upon their foreheads that protruded between one and five inches. Without their horns, they looked surprisingly like humans, despite the different color of their skin and their eyes. It was obvious that some of the children were Kull, for even the younger ones towered over their compatriots and, sometimes, their parents. So far as Eragon could tell, there was no pattern that determined which parents bore Kull and which did not. The parents who were Kull themselves, it seemed, bore Urgals of ordinary stature just as often as giants like themselves.

All that evening, Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira, and Thorn caroused with Garzhvog, and Eragon fell into his waking dreams while listening to an Urgal chanter recite the tale of Nar Tulkhqa's victory at Stavarosk- or so Garzhvog told him, for Eragon could understand nothing of the Urgal's tongue, other than it made the dwarves' sound as sweet as honeyed wine.

In the morning, Eragon found himself blotched with a dozen or more bruises, the result of the friendly knocks and cuffs he had received from the Kull during their feasting. With a quick glance toward Murtagh, Eragon found he had not fared much better than he.

His head throbbing, and his body as well, he and Saphira went with Garzhvog to speak with the Herndall. Murtagh, as tipsy Thorn followed behind them. The twelve dams held court in a low, circular hut filled with the smoke of burning juniper and cedar. The wicker doorway was barely large enough for Saphira's head, and her scales cast chips of blue light across the dark interior. Just before Eragon had ducked into the building, he had seen Thorn flop down onto the grass to the right of Saphira. A smile touched the sides of Murtagh's lips as he followed Eragon inside.

The dams were exceedingly old, and several were blind and toothless. They wore robes patterned with knots similar to the woven straps that hung outside each building, and which bore the crest of the inhabitants' clan. Each of the Herndall carried a stick carved with patterns that had no meaning for Eragon but which he knew were not meaningless.

With Garzhvog translating, Eragon told them of the first part of his plan to forestall future conflict between the Urgals and the other races, which was for the Urgals to hold games every few years, games of strength, speed, and agility. In them, the young Urgals would be able to win the glory they needed in order to mate and earn a place for themselves within their society. The games, Eragon proposed, would be open to every race, which would also provide the Urgals a means to test themselves against those who had long been their foes.

"King Orik and Queen Nasuada have already agreed to this," said Eragon, "and King Dathedr, who is now king of the elves, is also considering it. I believe that he too will grant the games his blessing."

The Herndall consulted among themselves for several minutes; then the oldest, a white-haired dam whose horns had worn away to almost nothing, spoke. Garzhvog again translated: "Yours is a good idea, Firesword. We must speak with our clans to decide upon the best time for these contests, but this we will do."

Pleased, Eragon bowed and thanked them.

Another of the dams spoke then. "We like this, Firesword, but we do not think this will stop the wars between our peoples. Our blood runs too hot for games alone to cool."

_And that of dragons does not? _asked Saphira.

One of the dams touched her horns. "We do not question the fierceness of your kind, Flametongue."

"I know that your blood runs hot- hotter than most," said Eragon. "That is why I have another idea."

The Herndall listened in silence as he explained, though Garzhvog stirred, as if uneasy, and uttered a low grunt. When Eragon finished, the Herndall did not speak or move for several minutes, and Eragon began to feel uncomfortable under the unblinking stare of those who could still see.

Then the rightmost Urgal shook her stick, and a pair of stone rings attached to it rattled loudly in the smoke-filled hut. She spoke slowly, the words thick and muddied, as if her tongue was swollen. "You would do this for us, Firesword?"

"I would," said Eragon, and bowed again.

"If you do, Firesword and Flametongue, then you will be the greatest friends the Urgralgra has ever had, and we will remember your names for the rest of time. We will weave them into every one of our thulqna, and we will carve them into our pillars, and we will teach them to our younglings when their horns bud."

"Then your answer is yes?" asked Eragon.

"It is."

Garzhvog paused and- speaking for himself, Eragon thought- he said, "Firesword, you do not know how much this means to my people. We will always be in your debt."

"You owe me nothing," said Eragon. "I only wish to keep us from having to go to war."

He talked with the Herndall for a while longer, discussing the particulars of the arrangement. Then he, Murtagh, Saphira, and Thorn made their farewells and resumed their journey to Vroengard. Eragon saw Murtagh cast a spell to clear Thorn's mind of the strong Urgal mead before they had left. Laughing to himself, Eragon remembered the time Saphira had drank too much mead herself, long ago, in Farthen Dur.

As the rough-hewn huts of the village shrank behind them, Saphira said, _They will made good Riders._

_I hope you are right._

The rest of their flight to Vroengard Island was uneventful. They encountered no storms over the sea; the only clouds that they saw on their way were thin and wispy and posing no danger to them or the gulls with whom they shared the sky.

Saphira and Thorn landed on Vroengard before the same half-ruined nesting house where Saphira and Eragon had stayed during their previous visit. Murtagh began setting up camp while Eragon walked into the forest and wandered among the dark, lichen-encrusted trees until he found several of the shadow birds he had encountered before and, after them, a patch of moss infested with the hopping maggots Nasuada had told him Galbatorix called burrow grubs. Using the name of names, Eragon gave both the animals a proper title in the ancient language. The shadow birds he called _sundavrblaka _and the burrow grubs _illgrathr._ The second of the names amused Eragon, in a grim sort of way, as it meant "bad hunger."

Satisfied, Eragon returned to the nesting house, and they all spent the night resting and talking with Glaedr and the other Eldunari.

At dawn, Saphira, Eragon, and the Eldunari went to the Rock of Kuthian. Murtagh and Thorn had gone to fly around the island as they had never seen it before and would mostly likely not get the chance again for a very long time. After speaking their true names, the graved doors within the mossy spire opened, and Eragon, Saphira, and the Eldunari descended to the vault below. In that deep-set cavern, lit by the lake of molten stone that lay beneath the roots of Mount Erolas, the guardian of the eggs, Cuaroc, helped them place each egg into a separate casket. Then they piled the caskets near the center of the chamber, along with the five Eldunari who had stayed within the cavern to help protect the eggs.

With Umaroth's help, Eragon cast the same spell he had once before and placed the eggs and the hearts into pocket of space that hung behind Saphira, where neither she nor he could reach them.

Cuaroc accompanied them out of the vault. The metal feet of the dragon-headed man clanged loudly against the tunnel floor as he climbed to the surface alongside them.

Once they were outside, Saphira grasped Cuaroc between her talons- for he was too large and heavy to sit comfortably upon her back- and she took flight, rising above the circular valley that lay in the heart of Vroengard.

It wasn't hard to spot Thorn, and once she did, Saphira began to fly toward him. They met and turned east, the scales of the Dragon's casting blue and wine red lights on the uneven ground.

Across the sea, dark and shining, flew Saphira and Thorn. Then over the Spine, the peaks like blades of ice and snow, and the rifts between them like rivers of shadow. They crossed over Palancar Valley- so that Saphira and Eragon might have one last look at their childhood home, if only from high above- and then over the Bay of Fundor, which was scalloped with lines of foam-crested waves, like so many rolling mountains. Ceunon, with its steep, many-layered roofs and sculptures of dragons heads, was their next landmark of note, and soon afterward, the leading edge of Du Weldenvarden appeared, the pines tall and strong.

Nights they spent camped by streams and ponds, the light of their fires reflecting off Cuaroc's polished metal body, while frogs and insects chorused about them. In the distance, they ofttimes heard the howls of hunting wolves.

Once they arrived at Du Weldenvarden, Saphira and Thorn flew for an hour toward the center of the great forest, whereupon the elves' wards stopped them from proceeding any farther. They landed and walked through the invisible barrier of magic, Cuaroc striding alongside Saphira, and again they took flight.

League after league of trees sailed by underneath them, with little variation save for clusters of deciduous trees- oaks and elms, and birch and aspen and languorous willows- which often lined the waterways below. Past a mountain, the name of which Eragon had forgotten, and the elven city of Osilon, and then trackless acres of pines, each unique and yet nearly identical to its countless brethren.

At last, in late evening, when both the moon and the sun hung low upon opposing horizons, they arrived at Ellesmera and glided down to land amid the living buildings of the elves' largest, and proudest, of cities.

Arya and Firnen were waiting for them, along with Roran, Katrina and Ismira. As Saphira drew near, Firnen reared and spread his wings, uttering a joyful roar that frightened birds into the air for a league around. Saphira answered in kind as she settled onto her hind legs and gently placed Cuaroc on the ground.

Eragon unbuckled his legs and slid down off Saphira's back. To his left, Murtagh did the same.

Roran ran up, grasped Eragon by the forearm, and clapped him on the shoulder while Katrina hugged him on the other side. Laughing, Eragon said, "Ah! Stop, let me breathe!" After they greeted Murtagh and Thorn, Eragon asked, "So, how do you like Ellesmera?"

"It's beautiful!" said Katrina, smiling.

"I thought you were exaggerating," said Roran, "but it's every bit as impressive as you said. The hall we've been staying in-"

"Tialdari Hall," said Katrina.

Roran nodded. "That. It's given me some ideas as to how we should rebuild Carvahall."

In the corner of his eye, Eragon could see Murtagh gazing around at the buildings, a look of interest on his face.

Eragon laughed again and started walking along the forest path toward the western edge of Ellesmera. Arya and Murtagh joined them.

He looked at Arya and said, "Well met indeed, Shadeslayer."

She smiled at his use of the title, and the dusk beneath the swaying trees seemed to grow brighter.

Once Eragon had removed Saphira's saddle, she and Firnen took flight- although Eragon knew Saphira was exhausted from their journey- and together they disappeared in the direction of the Crags of Tel'naeir. Before they had departed, Eragon heard Firnen ask Thorn if he would like to accompany them, to which Thorn had readily agreed. Now, as the departed, Eragon heard Firnen say to Saphira and Thorn, _I caught six deer for you two this morning. They are waiting for you on the grass by Oromis's hut._

Cuaroc set off in pursuit of Saphira, the eggs were still with her, and it was his duty to protect them.

Through the great boles of the city, Roran and Katrina led Eragon until they arrived at a clearing edged with dogwood and hollyhocks, where tables sat laden with a vast assortment of food. Many elves, garbed in their finest tunics, greeted Eragon with soft cries, mellifluous laughter, and snatches of song and music.

Arya sat beside King Dathedr, and the white raven, Blagden, rested upon a carved perch nearby, croaking and spouting occasional scraps of verse. Eragon sat by Arya's side- Murtagh on his other- and they ate and drank and made merry until late in the night.

When the feast began to draw to a close, Eragon snuck away for a few minutes and ran through the darkened forest to the Menoa tree, guided more by his senses of smell and hearing than by sight.

The stars appeared overhead as he emerged from beneath the angled boughs of the great pine trees. He paused, then, to slow his breathing and collect himself before picking his way across the bed of roots that surrounded the Menoa tree.

He stopped at the base of the immense trunk and placed his hand against the creviced bark. Reaching out with his mind toward the slow consciousness of the tree that had once been an elf woman, he said:

_Linnea...Linnea...Awake! I must needs speak with you! _He waited but detected no response from the tree; it was as if he were attempting to communicate with the sea or the air or the earth itself. _Linnea, I must speak to you!_

A sigh of wind seemed to pass through his mind, and he felt a thought, faint and distant, a thought that said, _What, O Rider...?_

_Linnea, when last I was here, I said that I would give you whatever you wanted in exchange for the brightsteel under your roots. I am about to leave Alagaesia, so I have come to fulfill my obligation ere I go. What would you have of me, Linnea?_

The Menoa tree did not answer, but its branches stirred slightly, needles fell pattering onto the roots about the clearing, and a sense of amusement emanated from its consciousness.

_Go...do as you have planned...and do not fail..._whispered the voice, and then the tree withdrew from Eragon's mind.

He stood where he was for another few minutes, calling her name, but the tree refused to respond. In the end, Eragon left, feeling as if the matter was still unsettled, although the Menoa tree obviously thought otherwise.

The next three days, Eragon spent reading books and scrolls- many of which had come from Galbatorix's library and which Vanir had sent onward to Ellesmera at Eragon's request. Murtagh helped him as well. In the evenings, he dined with Roran, Katrina, Murtagh, and Arya, but otherwise he kept to himself and did not see even Saphira, for she remained with Firnen and Thorn on the Crags of Tel'naeir. At night, the roars and bellows of the dragons often echoed across the forest, distracting him from his studies and making him smile when he touched Saphira's thoughts. Pure excitement raced through her as she, Thorn, and Firnen romped about, as if they were still hatchlings.

On the fourth day, when he and Murtagh had learned all they could from their reading, they went to Arya and presented their plan to her, along with King Dathedr and his advisers. It took Eragon the better part of the day to convince them that what they had in mind was necessary and, moreover, that it would work.

Once he had, they broke to eat. As dusk began to creep across the land, they assembled in the clearing around the Menoa tree: he, Saphira, Firnen, Arya, Murtagh, Thorn, thirty of the elves' oldest and most accomplished spellcasters, Glaedr and the other Eldunari that Eragon and Saphira had brought with them, and the two Caretakers: the elf women Iduna and Neya, who were the living embodiment of the pact between the dragons and the Riders.

The Caretakers disrobed, and- in accordance with the ancient rituals- Eragon and the others began to sing, and as they sang, Iduna and Neya danced, moving together so that the dragon tattooed across them seemed to become a single, unified creature.

At the height of the song, the dragon shimmered, and then it opened its jaws and stretched its wings and leaped forward, pulling itself off the elves' skin and rising above the clearing until only its tail remained touch the intertwined Caretakers.

Eragon called to the glowing creature, and when he had its attention, he explained to it what he wanted and asked if the dragons would agree.

_Do as you will, Kingkiller, _said the spectral creature. _If it will help ensure peace throughout Alagaesia, we do not object._

Then Eragon read from one of the books of the Riders, and he spoke the name of the ancient language in his mind. The elves and the dragons who were present, along with Murtagh, lent him the strength of their bodies, and the energy from them coursed through him like a great whirling tempest. With it, Eragon cast the spell he had spent days perfecting, a spell such as had not been cast for hundreds of years: an enchantment like unto the great old magics that ran deep within the veins of the earth and the bones of the mountains. With it, he dared to do what had been done only once before.

With it, he forged a new compact between the dragons and the Riders.

He bound not just the elves and the humans to the dragons, but also the dwarves and the Urgals, making it so that any one of them could become a Rider.

As he spoke the final words of the mighty enchantment, and thus sealed it into place, a tremor seemed to run through the air and the earth. He felt as if everything around them- and everything in the world perhaps- had shifted ever so slightly. The spell exhausted everyone gathered around the Menoa tree but upon its conclusion, a sense of elation filled Eragon, and he knew that he had accomplished a great good, the greatest, perhaps, of his entire life.

King Dathedr insisted on throwing another feast to mark the occasion. Tired though he was, Eragon participated with good cheer, happy to enjoy the company of everyone gathered there.

In the midst of the feast, however, the food and music suddenly became too much for him, and he excused himself from the table where he sat with Arya.

_Are you all right? _asked Saphira, looking over from her place by Firnen and Thorn.

He smiled at her from across the clearing. _I just need some quiet. I'll be back soon. _He slipped away and walked slowly among the pines, breathing deeply of the cool night air.

A hundred feet from where the tables lay, Eragon saw a thin, high-shouldered elf man sitting against a massive root, his back to the nearby celebration. Eragon altered his path to avoid disturbing him, but as he did so, he caught a glimpse of the elf's face.

It was no elf at all, but the butcher Sloan.

Eragon stopped, caught by surprise. In all that had gone on, he had forgotten that Sloan- Katrina's father- was in Ellesmera. He hesitated for a moment, debating, and then with quiet steps walked over to him.

As he had the last time Eragon had seen him, Sloan wore a thin black strip of cloth tied around his head, covering the empty sockets where his eyes had once been. Tears seeped out from under the cloth, and his brow was furrowed and his lean hands clenched.

The butcher heard Eragon approach, for he turned his head in Eragon's direction and said, "Who goes there? Is that you, Adare? I told you, I need no help!" His words were bitter and angry, but there was also grief in them such as Eragon had not heard from him before.

"It's me, Eragon," he said.

Sloan stiffened, as if touched with a red-hot brand. "You! Have you come to gloat at my misery, then?"

"No, of course not," said Eragon, appalled by the thought. He dropped into a crouch several feet away.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you. It's often hard to tell if you're trying to help or hurt a person."

"That depends on your point of view."

Sloan's upper lip curled. "Now there's a weaselly elf-answer, if ever I heard one."

Behind him, the elves struck up a new song on lute and pipe, and a burst of laughter floated toward Eragon and Sloan from the party.

The butcher motioned over his shoulder with his chin. "I can hear her." Fresh tears rolled out from under the strip of cloth. "I can hear her, but I can't see her. And your blasted spell won't let me talk to her."

Eragon remained silent, unsure what to say.

Sloan leaned his head against the root, and the knob in his throat bobbed. "The elves tell me that the child, Ismira, is strong and healthy."

"She is. She's the strongest, loudest baby I know. She'll make a fine woman."

"That's good."

"How have you spent your days? Have you kept up with your carving?"

"The elves keep you informed of my activities, do they?" As Eragon tried to decide how to answer- he did not want Sloan to know he had visited him once before- the butcher said, "I guessed as much. How do you think I spend my days? I spend them in darkness, as I have ever since Helgrind, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs while the elves pester me about this and that and never give me a moment's peace!"

Again laughter sounded behind them. Within it, Eragon could make out the sound of Katrina's voice.

A fierce scowl contorted Sloan's face. "And then you had to go and bring _her _to Ellesmera. It wasn't enough just to exile me, was it? No, you had to torture me with the knowledge that my only child and grandchild are here, and that I'll never be able to see them, much less meet them." Sloan bared his teeth, and looked as if he might spring forward at Eragon. "You're a right heartless bastard, you are."

"I have too many hearts," said Eragon, though he knew the butcher would not understand.

"Bah!"

Eragon hesitated. It seemed kinder to let Sloan believe that Eragon had meant to hurt him rather than to tell him that his pain was merely the result of Eragon's forgetfulness.

The butcher turned his head away, and more tears rolled down his cheeks. "Go," he said. "Leave me. And never trouble me again, Eragon, or I swear one of us will die."

Eragon poked at the needles on the ground, then he stood and stared down at Sloan. He did not want to leave. What he had done to Sloan by bringing Katrina to Ellesmera felt wrong and cruel. Guilt gnawed at Eragon, growing stronger second by second, until at last he reached a decision, whereupon calm settled over him again.

Speaking no louder than a whisper, he used the name of the ancient language to alter the spells he had placed on Sloan. It took him over a minute, and as he neared the end of his incantations, Sloan growled between clenched teeth, "Stop your accursed muttering, Eragon, and begone. Leave me, blast you! Leave me!"

Eragon did not leave, however, but began a new spell. He drew upon the knowledge of the Eldunari and of the Riders whom many of the older dragons had been paired with, and he sang a spell that nurtured and fostered and restored what had once been. It was a difficult task, but Eragon's skill was greater than it had once been, and he was able to accomplish what he wished.

As Eragon sang, Sloan twitched, and then he began to curse and scratch with both hands at his cheek and brow, as if an itch had seized him.

"Blast you! What are you doing to me!"

Ending his incantation, Eragon squatted back down and gently removed the strip of cloth around Sloan's head. Sloan hissed as he felt the strip being pulled away, and he reach up to stop Eragon, but was too slow and his hands closed on empty air.

"You would take my dignity as well?" said Sloan, hate in his voice.

"No," said Eragon. "I would give it back. Open your eyes."

The butcher hesitated. "No. I can't. You're trying to trick me."

"When have I ever done that? Open your eyes, Sloan, and look upon your daughter and granddaughter."

Sloan trembled, and then, slowly, ever so slowly, his eyelids crept upward and revealed, instead of empty sockets, a pair of gleaming eyes. Unlike those he had been born with, Sloan's new eyes were blue as the noonday sky and of startling brilliance.

Sloan blinked, his pupils shrinking as they adjusted to the meager light within the forest. Then he jolted upright and twisted to peer over the top of the root at the festivities taking place between the trees beyond. The glow from the elves' flameless lanterns lit his face with a warm light, and by it, he seemed suffused with life and joy. The transformation in his expression was amazing to behold; Eragon felt tears in his own eyes as he watched the older man.

Sloan continued to stare over the root, like a parched traveler seeing a great river before him. In a hoarse voice, he said, "She's beautiful. They're both so beautiful." Another burst of laughter ran forth. "Ah...she looks happy. And Roran too."

"From now on, you can look at them if you want," said Eragon. "But the spells upon you still won't let you talk with them or show yourself to them or contact them in any way. And if you try, I'll know."

"I understand," murmured Sloan. He turned, and his eyes focused on Eragon, with unsettling force. His jaw worked up and down for a few seconds, as if he were chewing on something, and then he said, "Thank you."

Eragon nodded and stood. "Goodbye, Sloan. You'll not see me again, I promise."

"Goodbye, Eragon." And the butcher twisted round to gaze once more into the light of the elven feast.


	9. Leave Taking

A week passed: a week of laughter and music and long walks amid the wonders of Ellesmera. Eragon took Roran, Katrina, Ismira, and Murtagh to visit Oromis's hut on the Crags of Tel'naeir, and Saphira showed them the sculpture of licked stone she had made for the Blood-oath Celebration. As for Arya, she spent a day guiding them about the many gardens in the city, so they might see some of the more spectacular plants the elves had collected and created throughout the ages.

Eragon and Saphira would have been happy to stay in Ellesmera for another few weeks, but Blodhgarm contacted them and informed them that he and the Eldunari under his charge had arrived at Ardwen Lake. And though neither Eragon nor Saphira wished to admit it, they knew it was time to leave.

It cheered them, however, when Roran asked to accompany them on the first part of their journey, for as he said, "I'd like to see what the far side of Alagaesia looks like, and traveling with you is faster than having to ride all the way out there on a horse."

At dawn the next day, Eragon said his farewells to Katrina, who had decided to stay behind with Ismira. She cried the whole while, and Ismira nursed on her thumb and stared at him without comprehension.

Then Eragon and Arya set out, Saphira and Firnen flying side by side as they headed eastward over the forest. Roran sat behind Eragon, holding him by the waist, while Cuaroc dangled from Saphira's talons, his body reflecting the sunlight as brightly as any mirror. A little ahead of them was Murtagh atop Thorn, who playfully dove toward the ground and then back up, swishing his tail in pleasure.

After two and a half days, they sighted Ardwen Lake: a pale sheet of water larger than the whole of Palancar Valley. On its western bank stood the city of Silthrim, which neither Eragon nor Saphira had visited before. And bobbing in the water by the city's wharves was a long white ship with a single mast.

The vessel looked as Eragon knew it would, for he recognized it from his dreams, and a sense of inexorable fate settled upon him as he gazed at it.

_This was always meant to be, _he thought.

They spent the night in Silthrim, which was much like Ellesmera, although smaller and more densely built. While they rested, the elves loaded the Eldunari onto the ship, along with food, tools, cloth, and other useful supplies. The ship's crew was composed of twenty elves who wished to help with the raising of the dragons and the training of future Riders, as well as Blodhgarm and all of his remaining spellcasters, save Laufin and Uthinare, who at that point took their leave.

In the morning, Eragon modified the spell that kept the eggs hidden above Saphira and removed two, which he gave to Murtagh. One of the eggs would go to the dwarves, the other to the Urgals, and hopefully the dragons within would see fit to choose Riders from their designated race. If not, then they would swap places, and if they _still _did not find Riders for themselves, then they would be taken to wherever they could find Riders among either the elves or humans. Once the eggs hatched, they and their Riders would answer to Murtagh and Thorn until they were old enough to join Eragon, Saphira, Arya, Firnen and the rest of their kin in the east. King Dathedr had appointed three elves to guard each egg and to help Murtagh as they waited for them to hatch.

Then Eragon, Arya, Roran, Cuaroc, Murtagh, Blodhgarm, and the other elves traveling with them boarded and the ship, and they set sail across the lake, while Saphira, Thorn, and Firnen circled high overhead.

The ship was named the _Talita_, after the reddish star in the eastern sky. Light and narrow, the vessel needed only a few inches of water to float. It moved without sound and hardly needed steering, as it seemed to know exactly where its helmsman wished to go.

For days, they floated through the forest, first across the Ardwen Lake and then, later, down the Gaena River, which was swollen with the spring snow melt. As they passed through the green tunnel of branches, birds of many kinds sang and flew about them, and squirrels- both red and black- would scold them from tops of trees or would sit watching on branches that hung just out of reach.

Eragon spent most of his time with either Arya, Roran, or Murtagh and only flew with Saphira on rare occasions. For her part, Saphira kept with Firnen and Thorn. Eragon often saw them sitting on the bank enjoying each others company.

During the days, the light in the forest was gold and hazy; during the nights, the stars twinkled brightly and the waxing moon provided enough illumination to sail by. The warmth, the haze and constant rocking of _Talita_ made Eragon feel as if he were half-asleep, lost in the remembrance of a pleasant dream.

Eventually, as of course it had to, the forest ended, and they sailed out onto the fields beyond. The Gaena River turned south then and carried them alongside the forest to Eldor Lake, the waters of which were even larger than those of Ardwen Lake.

There the weather turned, and a storm sprang up. Tall waves pummeled the ship, and for a day, they were all miserable as a cold rain and a fierce wind battered them. The wind was at their back, however, and it sped their progress considerably.

From Eldor Lake, they entered onto the Edda River and sailed southward past the elven outpost of Ceris. After that, they left the forest behind entirely, and the _Talita_ glided on the river, across the plains, seemingly of it own volition.

Farther south they went, across more and more empty land. Looking about them, Roran said, "It's rather desolate, isn't it?" and Eragon had to agree.

At last they arrived at the easternmost settlement in Alagaesia: a small, lonely collection of wooden buildings by the name of Hedarth. The dwarves had built the place for the sole purpose of trading with the elves, for there was nothing of value in the area save the herds of deer and wild oxen visible in the distance. The buildings stood at the juncture where the Az Ragni poured into the Edda, more than doubling its size.

Eragon, Arya, and Saphira had passed through Hedarth once before, in the opposite direction, when they had traveled from Farthen Dur to Ellesmera after the battle with the Urgals. Thus Eragon knew what to expect when the village came into sight.

However, he was puzzled to see hundreds of dwarves waiting for them at the head of a makeshift pier that extended into the Edda. His confusion turned to delight when the group parted and Orik strode forth.

Raising his hammer, Volund, over his head, Orik shouted, "You didn't think I would let mine own foster brother leave without saying a proper goodbye, now did you?"

Grinning, Eragon cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back, "Never!"

The elves docked the _Talita_ long enough for everyone to disembark, save Cuaroc, Blodhgarm, and two other elves who stayed to guard the Eldunari. The water where the rivers met was too rough for the ship to hold its position without scraping against the pier, so the elves then cast off and sailed farther down the Edda, in search of a calmer place to lay anchor.

The dwarves, Eragon was astounded to see, had brought to Hedarth four of the giant boars from the Beor Mountains. The Nagran were spitted on trees as thick as Eragon's leg and were roasting over pits of glowing coals.

"I killed that one myself," Orik said proudly, pointing to the largest of the boars.

Along with the rest of the feast, Orik had brought three wagons of the dwarves' finest mead specifically for Saphira. Saphira hummed with pleasure when she saw the barrels. _You will have to try it as well,_ she told Firnen, who snorted and extended his neck, sniffing curiously at the barrels. Through Saphira, Eragon could hear Thorn telling Firnen about the Urgals mead.

When evening came and the food was cooked, they sat at the rough-hewn tables the dwarves had built just that day. Orik banged his hammer against his shield, silencing the crowd. Then he picked up a piece of meat, put it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

"Ilf gauhnith!" he proclaimed. The dwarves shouted with approval, the the feast began in earnest.

At the end of the evening, when everyone had eaten their fill- even the dragons- Orik clapped his hands and called for a servant who brought out a casket filled with gold and gems. "A small token of our friendship," Orik said as he gave it to Eragon.

Eragon bowed and thanked him.

Then Orik went to Saphira and, with a twinkle in his eye, he presented her with a gold and silver ring that she might wear on any of the claws of her forefeet. "It is a special ring, for it will not scratch, nor will it stain, and as long as you wear it, your prey will not hear you approaching."

The gift pleased Saphira immensely. She had Orik place the ring on the middle talon of her right paw, and throughout the evening, Eragon caught her admiring the band of gleaming metal.

At Orik's insistence, they stayed the night in Hedarth. Eragon hoped to leave early the following morning, but as the sky began to brighten, Orik invited him, Arya, Murtagh, and Roran to breakfast. After breakfast, they fell to talking, and then they went to see the rafts the dwarves had used to float the Nagran from the Beor Mountains to Hedarth, and before long it was nearly dinnertime again, and Orik succeeded in convincing them to stay for one last meal.

For the dinner, as with the feast the previous day, the dwarves provided song and music. They also listened to the performance of a particularly skilled dwarf bard delayed the departure of their party even further.

"Stay another night," Orik urged. "It's dark and no time for traveling."

Eragon glanced up at the full moon and smiled. "You forget, it's not so dark for me as it is for you. No, we must go. If we wait any longer, I fear we will never leave."

"Then go with mine blessing, brother of mine heart."

They embraced, and then Orik had horses brought for them- horses the dwarves kept stabled in Hedarth for the elves who came to trade.

Eragon raised his arm in farewell to Orik. Then he spurred his steed forward and galloped with Roran, Murtagh, Arya, and the rest of the elves away from Hedarth and down the game trail that ran along the southern bank of the Edda, where the air was sweet with the aroma of willows and cottonwoods. Above, the dragons followed, twining around each other in a playful, spiraling dance.

Outside Hedarth, Eragon reined in his mount, as did the others, and they rode on a slower, more comfortable pace, talking softly amongst themselves. Eragon discussed nothing of importance with Arya, Roran, or Murtagh, nor they with him, for it was not the words that mattered but rather the sense of closeness they shared in the confines of the night. The mood between them felt precious and fragile, and when they spoke, it was with greater kindness than usual, for they knew their time together was drawing to an end, and none wished to mar it with a thoughtless phrase.

They soon arrived at the top of a small hill and gazed down from it upon the _Talita_, which sat waiting for them on the far side.

The ship appeared as Eragon knew it would. As it must.

By the light of the pale moon, the vessel looked like a swan ready to take flight from the wide, slow-moving river and carry him into the vast unknown. The elves had lowered its sails, and the sheets of fabric gleamed with a faint sheen. A single figure stood at the tiller, but otherwise the deck was empty.

Past the _Talita_, the flat, dark plain extended all the way to the distant horizon: a daunting expanse broken only by the river itself, which lay upon the land like a strip of hammered metal.

A tightness formed in Eragon's throat, and he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, as if to hide himself from the sight.

They slowly rode down the hill and through the whispering grass to the pebble beach by the ship. The hooves of the horses sounded sharp and loud against the stones.

There Eragon dismounted, as did the others. Unbidden, the elves formed two lines leading to the ship, one facing the other, and they planted the ends of their spears in the ground by their feet and stood thus, statue-like.

Eragon looked them over, and the tightness in his throat increased, making it difficult to breathe properly.

_Now is the moment,_ said Saphira, and he knew she was right.

Eragon untied the casket of gold and gems from the back of his horse's saddle and carried it to Roran.

"This is where we part, then?" Roran asked.

Eragon nodded. "Here," he said, giving the casket to Roran. "You should have this. You can make better use of it than I...Use it to build your castle."

"I'll do that," said Roran, his voice thick with emotion. He placed the casket under his left arm, and then he embraced Eragon with his right, and they held each other for a long moment. Afterward, Roran said, "Be safe, Brother."

"You too, Brother...Take care of Katrina and Ismira."

"I will."

Unable to think of anything else to say, Eragon touched Roran once more on the shoulder, then turned away toward Murtagh.

A gleam was in Murtagh's eyes, his face was stiff, as if he were trying to keep himself from crying.

"Brother," Eragon said, his voice cracking.

"Brother," said Murtagh firmly.

After giving him a rough hug, Eragon turned and went to join Arya where she stood waiting for him by the two rows of elves.

Eragon held out his arm, and she looped hers through his, and together they walked onto the ship then went to stand by the prow.

The elves behind them followed, and once they were all on board, they pulled up the gangplank. Without wind or oars, the ship moved away from the stony shore and began to drift down the long, flat river.

On the beach, Roran stood, watching them go. Then he threw back his head and uttered a long, aching cry, and the night echoed with the sound of his loss. Beside him Murtagh placed a hand on Thorn's right foreleg with his left, and wiped his eyes with his right.

For several minutes, Eragon stood next to Arya, watching Saphira and Firnen circle overhead, and neither spoke.

At last, Eragon turned to her, and he pushed the cowl away from her face, so that he could see her eyes.

"Arya," he said. And he whispered her true name. A tremor of recognition ran through her.  
>She whispered his true name in response, and he too shivered at hearing the fullness of his being.<p>

As he looked back to the shore one last time, he raised his hand to Roran and Murtagh. In a soft voice he said, "Farewell, brothers."

Then Eragon finally allowed the tears to spill from his eyes, and he clutched the railing of the ship and wept as he left behind all that he had ever known. Above, Saphira keened, and her grief mingled with his as they mourned.

In time, however, Eragon's heart slowed, and his tears dried, and a measure of peace stole over him as he gazed out at the empty plain. He wondered what strange things they might encounter within the wild reaches, and he pondered the life he and Saphira were to have- a life with the dragons and Riders.

_We are not alone, little one, _said Saphira.

A smile crept across his face.

He looked at Arya again, and reached out and took her hand in his.

And the ship sailed onward, gliding serenely down the moonlit river toward the dark lands beyond.


	10. Castle Building

Roran let out a heavy sigh as the ship carrying Eragon vanished in the first bend of the river, obscured it in the dark night. Emotion eating at his stomach, he turned away and walked toward Thorn and Murtagh. Roughly he said, "Well, he's gone. Are we leaving?"

Nodding, Murtagh jumped into the saddle, and Roran handed the chest up before settling in behind him. Thorn's claws made large gashes in the ground as he took off, flapping his wings. As they rose above the tree tops, Roran looked back to the river and could see two glimmering shapes in the air and a small dot in the blue river below.

The last few moments with Eragon had almost been too much for Roran to handle. He had tried to tell himself that he would be ready when Eragon went to leave but the truth was, he hadn't been. Closing his eyes, Roran tried to focus on something else.

In a few short days he would be with the rest of the remaining villagers from Carvahall. Together they would return to Palancar Valley and begin rebuilding the town that had been destroyed by the Ra'zac.

The trees below sailed past, and after watching them for a moment or so, Roran realized that he was exhausted. He had enjoyed the parting feast King Orik had thrown for Eragon. It was the first time Roran had eaten the Nagran and he found them delicious. But in all the excitement he hadn't gotten as much sleep as he would have liked.

_No matter. I'll have time after we get to Ellesmera, _he thought.

Roran jumped as Murtagh's hair brushed against his face when the wind shifted suddenly. Despite Eragon's reassurances, Roran still felt uneasy around Murtagh and riding with him was slightly unnerving. Since they captured Uru'baen, Roran had been keeping a careful eye on both Murtagh and Thorn, although he never saw anything suspicious. But he continued to watch; it was better to be safe.

Flying back to Ellesmera was much faster than taking a ship for half of the journey and they arrived around the time the sun began to shine over the large forest of Du Weldenvarden. Thorn landed in the same clearing Firnen had the first time Roran had set eyes on Ellesmera. After unbuckling his legs, Murtagh jumped to the ground heavily and turned back around to watch as Roran did the same.

When his feet touched the ground, Roran groaned. His body was sore, his hand hurt, and he was feeling very irritable.

Murtagh looked at him with a questioning face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Just a little sore, that's all. Nothing sleep and time can't cure," replied Roran.

After nodding, Murtagh began to unstrap the chest that was attached to Thorn's saddle.

Once the chest was free he asked, "Would you like me to carry this for you?" in a friendly tone. Roran looked at the chest and then thought about his hand. It wouldn't be wise to strain the wound so soon after receiving it but, he begrudged accepting help from Murtagh.

"I suppose. I'd rather not open the scab," he replied.

"Aye, that would be foolish," said Murtagh with a nod of his head.

They began walking toward Tialdari hall where Roran knew Katrina was still staying, waiting for his return. He was anxious to get into the large bed that had been given to them during their stay and recover the sleep he lost during the trip.

As he reached the door Roran could hear Ismira's loud cries and Katrina speaking to her in gentle tones. A sense of peace stole over him as opened the door and walked in. He was with his family once again and they were safe.

When Katrina saw him she brightened and then said, "You're back!" When she saw Murtagh come in behind Roran she said, "Murtagh! Would you like a cup of tea?" Katrina held no ill feelings toward either Thorn or Murtagh as she had not seen the destruction they had wreaked during the war. It was only natural, Roran knew, but he worried it might lead her to throw caution to the way side.

Shaking his head, Murtagh said, "No, I have requested a meeting with Kind Dathedr to speak with him concerning the protection of the eggs, and I must leave now if I'm going to be on time." After gently setting the chest down on the floor he turned to Katrina and said, "But thank you."

"Your welcome," said Katrina, before looking down at the chest. "What is that, Roran?"

As the door closed behind Murtagh, Roran said, "Eragon gave us gold and gems. We'll use it to build our castle."

Katrina's eyes glistened. "That was kind of him."

"Aye."

A wave of emotion pasted over Roran as he relived his last moments with Eragon. Then he said, "I'm tired and sore. After a few hours of sleep I'll be able to think clearly again," and began making his way toward the bedroom that lay at the far end of the hall. As he walked past Katrina, he stopped and gave both her and Ismira a kiss on the head.

"See you in a while then," replied Katrina.

The sun was just setting as Roran awoke. The room was quiet as he left the warm blankets, but he could hear Katrina humming a lullaby to Ismira through the closed door.

Once he left the room he went straight for the bowl of fruits that sat on the small wooden table. Roran wasn't sure he liked eating fruits for every meal but they still tasted refreshing to his dry throat. He turned to Katrina as she continued to hum.

"I'm glad we visited Ellesmera," he said before popping a large blackberry into his mouth.

"It's so beautiful," replied Katrina with excitement. "We'll have to include some of the designs to our castle."

"Do you need any help packing up before we leave tomorrow morning?" Murtagh would be coming at sunrise to take them to meet the remaining villagers of Carvahall where they traveled toward Palancar Valley. From there, Roran and Katrina would continue with the villagers for the rest of the trip.

"No, I have everything already taken care of."

"What did you do while I was gone?"

"An elf named, Adare, showed me many new places. I even saw two elf children and a werecat named Maud," said Katrina with evident pleasure.

"Only two elf children?"

"Adare said that elves don't have children very often and so they are very special."

"Hmm."

They continued to talk as the light outside faded into the deep dark of night. After the sun went down completely, they went to bed, excited about what the next day would bring.

Loud flapping sounds came from outside Tialdari hall, and Roran got up from where he was sitting at the table, finished with his breakfast.

"Are you ready?" he asked Katrina.

She nodded. "Our bags are in that corner," she said, and gestured with her finger in the direction of the corner closest to the door.

Roran saw a pile of three bags placed neatly in a row. Walking over, he picked them up one by one and strode for the door. Katrina gathered the still sleeping Ismira into her arms and followed him.

Once outside, Roran saw Murtagh adjusting the saddle while Thorn watched intently. Looking over his shoulder, Murtagh said, "I hope we aren't to late. I had to give the two eggs to the care of the elves. Dathedr chose to protect them and it took longer than I anticipated."

"No, you're timing was perfect," said Roran as he handed Murtagh the three bags.

Coming up behind them, Katrina said, "It's a beautiful morning for traveling." And it was. The sky was clear and the temperature was pleasant.

_And the wind will be at our back, _said Thorn with enthusiasm saturating his mental voice. Roran had become accustomed to hearing the thoughts of dragons during his time in Ellesmera. When he, Eragon, Arya, Katrina, and Murtagh had gone sightseeing around the city, the dragons would accompany them as well, and would often add their own thoughts during a conversation. It had startled Roran the first few times, but it slowly became a normal event.

Murtagh turned to Katrina and offered to hold Ismira while she mounted Thorn. Katrina agreed and Roran helped her climb onto Thorn.

As Murtagh handed Ismira up to Katrina he said, "She's very beautiful."

"Thank you," replied Katrina with pride.

After Roran had settled behind Katrina, Murtagh mounded Thorn and buckled himself into the saddle. With a light pounce Thorn flapped his wings and they rose off the ground. And so they began their journey, flying in the general direction of Palancar Valley, where they would soon come across the traveling villagers.

After almost three days of flying, Roran saw a long line of people, animals, and wagons in the distance. The sunlight caught the weapons the men carried and created a twinkling sight. Roran saw Thorn reposition his wings and felt the change that came in the wind. At just a few hundred feet above the ground, Thorn's scales sent jittering splashes of color over the earth. The red dots made Roran feel dizzy, so he looked back at the group of people ahead.

When they heard the dragon approaching everyone in the procession paused and looked back at them. Thorn landed several thousand feet away so as not to scare the already frightened animals more than necessary.

Roran dismounted and then turned to take Ismira from Katrina while she got out of the saddle. Once she was safely on the ground, Roran turned to Murtagh and said, "Thank you for the ride."

"You are welcome," he replied. "Thorn and I are glad to be of service."

Thorn brought his snout down to Roran and touched him on the brow. It was something Roran had seen Saphira do to others but, he never had been on the receiving end. Having Thorn so close to his head made him nervous, and he tensed, but didn't move.

_Goodbye, Eragon-Murtagh's-cousin, _he said before turning to Katrina and doing the same.

"Goodbye," said Katrina as she patted Thorn's scaly cheek with her one free hand.

Thorn hummed deeply and Murtagh raised his hand in farewell. Roran raised his own hand in return and Thorn turned around and began making his way in the opposite direction of the village. With three strong flaps of his wings, the red dragon became airborne and flew northward, where Roran had heard the Urgals lived in the Spine.

Crossing the last thousand feet, Roran called out when he saw Horst. "How have you fared?"

Horst clapped Roran in the shoulder and said, "We've had a few setbacks but, nothing that could stop us."

Using the ideas he had thought of while visiting Ellesmera, Roran began to sketch out some plans on a scrap piece of paper. When he was finished he held the paper at arms length and began to examine his handiwork. It looked exactly as he wanted it to and a sense of pride crept over him. On the opposite side of the paper he wrote out a rough estimate of all the number of supplies he would need and what he thought they would cost.

He heard Katrina and Elain in the other room as they prepared the evening meal. Hope and Ismira squealed with pleasure as Baldor shook a gourd filled with beans, laughing at his antics.

In the few months after arriving in Palancar Valley the villagers had managed to build several houses and remain in high spirits as well. The work made Roran feel useful and it was good to see progress in rebuilding his childhood home. As soon as the town was complete, Roran would begin building his castle on the hill.

After scratching out the last line of numbers Roran stood from the bed he was sitting on and set the paper on the night stand beside him. Then he made his way toward the kitchen.

Once he ate dinner he planned to go back out with Baldor and Albriech to help set the floor in the house that would be Gertrude's. Early on in their trip back to Palancar Valley, Roran had decided he would help build Carvahall along with what where now his subjects. Just because he was an earl didn't mean he was above hard labor and he wanted the villagers to understand this through his example.

Only twenty more houses needed to be built and Roran was confidant they would have them finished by the end of the summer. Especially, if everyone kept going the way there were.

As Roran entered the hot kitchen, smells of warm bread and hot soup hit his nostrils and he took a deep breath.

"Mmm. Smells good," he said. Elain and Katrina looked in his direction and smiled.

"Did you finish you design?" asked Baldor from where he sat on the floor with Hope and Ismira who were playing on a large knitted blanket.

"Yes. And we'll have more than enough money to cover the cost. Eragon's gift was beyond what we could have asked for," replied Roran as he sat down at the table that was in the middle of the room. Fisk had immediately been put to work when they arrived in Palancar Valley with the instructions to build as many tables, chairs, beds, and end tables as he could. It had saved them much inconvenience and Roran was glad they had a capable carpenter with them.

"As soon as everyone in Palancar Valley has a house we'll begin building the castle," continued Roran. "The stores can be built next year."

"Can you go find your father and Albriech, Baldor?" asked Elain as she poured the steaming soup into a wooden bowl. "Dinner will be ready soon. I think they are on the south end of Carvahall."

"Yes mother," he replied, setting the gourd down beside Ismira as he rose. Roran went over to the blanket where the two infants lay and knelt beside them as he heard the door close behind Baldor.

Hope's face looked perfect, and despite the fact that Roran knew she had been born with a cleft lip, he could hardly believe it. If anyone without the knowledge saw her, they could have never guessed it.

Looking into his eyes with excitement, Ismira squealed again. Roran laughed and picked the gourd up and shook it, making the beans inside dance. The action generated another round of noise from the infants.

"It never seems to grow old for them," said Katrina as she set two steaming bowls of soup onto the table.

"No, it doesn't," laughed Roran. He continued to play with Hope and Ismira until Baldor came back to the house with Horst and Albriech in tow. Once they were inside, Elain came and scooped Hope into her arms, as did Katrina with Ismira. Gathering around the table, everyone began to eat the bread and soup with vigor.

In between bites, Horst said, "After we lay the floors in Gertrude's house we'll only have to hang the doors and it will be finished. Who's house will we start next?"

Roran thought for a minute before saying, "Felda has been staying with Birgit. I think it's time we start her house."

Horst nodded and bit another chunk of bread off of the piece that was in his hand.

They continued to talk abut various villagers who still needed a home and decided upon who needed a house the most, while finishing their food.

Once the meal was over, Roran, Horst, Albriech, and Baldor went out into the heat of the hot setting sun. For the rest of the evening they labored with other men in the village to lay the floor down in Gertrude's house. By the time the sun set they had finished a large majority of the floor and had about a ten by ten foot area left to lay.

"Good work men," said Roran as everyone began to put away the tools required for the job. "Tomorrow we'll finish the floor and hang the doors. Be here by dawn."

"Yes, Stronghammer," replied various men from where they were.

Satisfied, Roran turned and made his way back to the house. His hammer had come in handy, and he was glad to be using it for a less violent end. Building, and not killing, was more his cup of tea, he decided.

"Hand me up the last plank, Baldor," said Roran as he balanced his weight on the semi-steep roof of the main portion that would be his home. Since the last house had been erected a month ago, Roran had focused solely on building the castle he and Katrina, along with Ismira would live in. The men of the village helped extensively in the building of the stone wall that surrounded the top of the hill, as well as the stone building that lay in the center.

Today, as the sun stood high in the late fall sky, Roran had enlisted the help of Baldor and Albriech as they roofed the building. Two days ago the men of the village had helped Roran built the tresses across the top of the completed four stone walls.

As Baldor lifted the plank above his head, he said, "Father said the tower on the right hand corner of the surrounding wall is going up without much trouble. They should have it finished by the end of the week."

"Good," Roran grunted as he grasped the plank and set it in place. In addition to building a tall wall around the top of the hill, Roran also wished to have four towers on the corners to ensure they could better defend themselves should a threat arise.

With a skin of water, Albriech strode over to stand by Baldor. He looked up at where Roran was and said in a loud voice, "Two people have been spotted riding toward Carvahall. Father is gathering a group of men to meet them and wants to know if you'll accompany them."

Roran tensed. No one had bothered them since they got to Palancar Valley earlier in the year. _Who could it be? _he wondered.

Shoving his hammer into his belt and starting down the ladder that leaned against the side of the stone wall he said, "I'll come."

_Magic would be handy in a situation like this, _he thought. It frustrated him that he didn't have that ability no matter how hard he tried. _Just use your brains like you always have._

"Are they armed?" he asked Albriech when his feet touch the ground.

"Not from what we can tell, but I'm sure they have a dagger hidden somewhere at least. They would be foolish if they didn't." replied Albriech.

Roran thought as much. If people didn't _look _dangerous they most likely had something up their sleeves. _Hopefully, they can't use magic and don't mean us harm, _thought Roran. But that was best case scenario. Better not get his hopes up just yet.

"Well, lets go see what they intend," he said, looking toward Baldor and Albriech.

It took them only a few minutes to reach the center of Carvahall where Horst, along with twenty other men, stood with weapons in hand.

Roran went up to Horst and said, "I think it would be best if you took ten of the men to the right hand of the road, while Albriech takes the other ten to the left. I'll walk until I come face to face with the men and ask what their business is here. If they attack me, we'll have the element of surprise and you can close in around them."

Nodding, Horst began to shout orders to the men. Roran ran to the house he and Katrina were still sharing with Elain and Horst to retrieve his mail hauberk. He had a few minutes before going to meet the men so that Horst and Albriech would have time to get their men into position.

When he reached the house he opened the door and was met by Katrina who had a worried expression on her face.

"What's going on?" she asked with concern.

He walked past her and into the room where his hauberk lay in a box under their bed. As he stepped through the door he said, "Two men are on their way to Carvahall. We are going to intercept them as a precaution."

He took his belt off and set it on the floor, the hammer making a dull noise as it touched the wood. Reaching under the bed, he pulled the box out and lifted the hauberk into the air shaking it to let the rings fall into place. Once he slipped it over his head and retied the belt around his waist, he turned to Katrina.

She looked tense but only nodded and said, "Be careful."

"I will be," he replied and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't worry about me."

With that, he walked out of the house and made his way to the road that led out of Carvahall. As he left the gate he heard the large wooden door begin to creak as they shut behind him. Good. Horst had taken extra precautions.

The walk gave Roran the time he needed to think of a plan and bring his beating heart to a slower pace. After about a mile, Roran saw two figures atop horses, distant but coming closer at an even speed.

When he was a few hundred feet away from the men, he raised his hand and said, "Ho there! What brings you to Carvahall?"

The shorter man on the right, lifted his hand as well and replied, "Business of Queen Nasuada!"

As they got closer, Roran could see that each man carried a bag on his shoulder and that they were clean shaven though dusty from the dirt on the road.

Their lack of beards reminded Roran of Eragon and how he used magic to shave himself. The realization sent a pang of worry though his body. _They can probably use magic._

When the men stood ten feet in front of him, they dismounted and led their horse to stand before him. Roran folded his arms across his chest and said, "What kind of business?"

"Are you Roran Stronghammer, earl of Palancar Valley?" asked the plump man to the left in a kind tone.

In a commanding voice Roran answered, "I am. What of it?" In the corner of his eye Roran could see Albriech to the right of the shorter man, hidden in the cluster of trees which stood to the right of the road.

"Stronghammer, we are the two magicians Queen Nasuada chose to govern this area. With your permission, we would like to enter Carvahall and take up our position." The shorter man seemed genuine, but Roran wasn't about to let two spellcasters into Carvahall without more information, if he could help it. Nasuada had told him of her plans to govern magicians and he knew she would be sending someone to fulfill her plan soon but, he had no idea of knowing if these two men really were commissioned by her.

"How do I know you aren't lying to me?" demanded Roran in the most powerful voice he could muster.

"We have papers from Queen Nasuada, and if that isn't enough, we'll swear to you in the ancient language of our duties."

Roran waved his hand dismissively and said, "I can't understand the ancient language, nor can anyone else here. For all we know, you could be lying to us. But, let us see these papers."

Immediately both men pulled out a scroll from each of their chests, hidden among their clothes. The action relaxed Roran slightly as it seemed they weren't afraid to show him the information.

But then a thought hit Roran- he couldn't read the papers regardless of how fast they handed them over. For all he knew they could very well be a lie as well. He mentally cursed his stupidity. It had always been his intention to learn how to read after his discussion with Nasuada but he had never gotten around to it, and now he wished he had. What with the trip back to Palancar Valley and the work required, he had forgotten about his resolve almost completely. And now it was too late.

His mind raced as he took the papers from the men and looked at them. The scribbles, he knew were letters, meant nothing to him.

Instinct was the only thing left to him. Looking at the paper, he could see that it was of high quality. Roran tried to think back to when he was in Nasuada's tent. The paper there had looked similar to what he now held. He noticed that the paper he held was slightly battered. A good sign considering how far the spellcasters would have rode from Ilirea.

Then an idea struck him, but it made him nervous as he had never done anything like it before. But there was no time to worry about it. And it was the only way he could think of to know for sure if the magicians were really from Nasuada.

"Show me your memories of Nasuada's orders and your trip here. I don't trust the papers enough to allow you into Carvahall," Roran said, hoping with all his heart that his voice didn't betray the nervousness he felt.

"As you wish, Stronghammer. Please open your mind to ours and we will show you," replied the plump man on the left.

Panic weld up inside Roran. What if he couldn't fend them off should they chose to attack?

_What if- _

No. He must not think of anything right now. If he was going to allow them into his mind, he had to stay calm or they would sense his fear. Taking a deep breath, Roran nodded at the spellcasters and then said, "I am ready."

Roran slowly let the barriers down in his mind and he felt a tendril of thought and knew it was coming from the man on the left, the shorter one. A torrent of thoughts races through Roran's mind as he relived the man's memories, Nasuada's orders and all that he had felt or thought during the long ride. Once the spellcaster retreated back to his own mind, another mental voice touched Roran. The plump man's memories were similar to the short man's but, with a slightly different outlook.

After they were finished, Roran had no doubt that they really had come from Ilirea with the intention of fulfilling their duty to Nasuada. And he felt much better about letting them into Carvahall.

"Thank you," he said. "You can't be too careful, even if Galbatorix is dead."

"We agree, Stronghammer," the short man replied. "Are you convinced?"

"Yes. You may enter Carvahall."

The men mounted their horses again and the shorter man said, "My name is Tranerg."

"And mine is Fornr," said the plump man. "Is there a good inn you could recommend?"

Roran couldn't help himself from laughing out loud. "We don't have an inn yet. We only just built homes for everyone."

The two magicians looked at him curiously.

"You haven't heard what happened to Carvahall have you?" Roran asked with a smile on his face.

"No, Stronghammer."

"Well, let me tell you then," he answered and began to tell the two spellcasters about all that had happened in Carvahall and to it's people as they made their way toward the city gates. Horst, Albriech, Baldor, and the twenty men with them, fell in behind the horses and listened as Roran recounted the story of their flight and return.


	11. The Next Generation

"Yes. That is true. To rule a kingdom you must understand the effects your decision will cause. If you don't consider everything, you will be unprepared to meet the challenges that will inevitably come." Nasuada said, as she walked through a walled garden just off the palace in Ilirea with her son, Illian. At twelve, he was eager to learn all she could teach about the kingdom that would be his responsibility once she was too old to continue.

Nasuada turned to look at him. His eyes were gleaming with excitement and happiness.

"Now, take this for example, a group of Urgals attack a small village which is on the borders of their lands. What would be the wisest decision?"

Illian cocked his head to the left as he considered her question.

He had Murtagh's nose, and general face shape. His skin had a deeper tan, although not as dark as Nasuada's and he had her determination, which was both good and bad. Good because he would not flinch once he set his mind to something, bad because it often prohibited him from thinking about the possibilities of his actions before he decided upon a plan. Hence the conversation. Nasuada knew that as he matured he would come to a balance, as she herself had. But, for the time being, she would have to continue to hammer good advice and wise strategy into his head.

"First, I would go to the Herndall and ask why they did such a thing," said Illian slowly.

"That would be a very good first step. You are asking the rulers of the Urgals to answer for the wrong committed by their subjects. But, just telling the Herndall of the incident wouldn't resolve the issue. What else would you do?"

Illian thought for a moment more before saying, "I would ask the Herndall to punish the Urgals who attacked the village."

"What about the people in the village? What would you do with them?" probed Nasuada. She wanted Illian to think about every side.

"I'm not sure."

"What if the villagers had done something to upset the Urgals?"

"I suppose I would punish them too."

"Is there a better way to handle the entire situation?" Nasuada knew that Illian was missing the root of the problem and wouldn't have an answer to her question until he understood it himself.

"The first thing you should do in a situation like this is to work with what you have control over. The Empire does not have ultimate control over the Urgals. First, you would go to the village, bringing as many men as you needed to defend it. You would ask multiple villagers for their side of the story. Undoubtedly, you will receive many variations of the situation from the same village. Once you know who may be to blame, you will then go to the rulers of the attacking party and either apologize or ask for compensation, depending on who is at fault. But, that may be appropriate for only this situation. A rule of thumb would be to deal with what you have control over first and understand the situation before acting."

"You make everything seem so easy, mother," Illian said with a frown on his face.

"Not everything is easy. Sometimes I don't even know where to begin. But, you must use this," and with that, she lightly tapped the side of his head with her finger. "Your mind is an important thing and if you don't use it there could be many consequences."

"What would you do if the the attacking party won't do anything. If the problem weren't your own subjects, I mean," asked Illian.

"That's where understanding the politics of other nations is important. Also knowing what makes people do things," replied Nasuada. "If you can't think of what they might gain by not giving you compensation, you have essentially lost the fight."

"So if-"

At that moment a little girl's voice interrupted their conversation, calling to Nasuada from far up the path. When she looked in the direction of the sound she could see Selena, her five year old daughter, skipping up toward her with Murtagh following close behind.

Nasuada smiled. She knew she was about to listen to non-stop chattering as Selena recounted the days events. Earlier that morning, Murtagh had taken Selena with the intention of flying above the city for a few hours on Thorn's back. Selena had been begging for the last week to go on her first ride, and finally Murtagh had taken the opportunity the day allowed.

"Mother, mother! Oh! It was so high up in the sky! Father took me through a cloud! It was wet. Very wet. But, it was so high! And Thorn dove straight for the ground, mother! His wings made a lot of wind and it was fun!" Selena gestured upward with her tiny hands every time she said "high", as if to emphasize her words.

While she listened, Nasuada saw Murtagh sit on one of the stone benches in the garden and watch as Selena continued, a twinkle in his eye.

"And the people were so small! I asked father how high we were and he said at least a thousand feet in the air! I didn't know you could go that high and still breathe! And the sun was so bright! It hurt my eyes, kind of. And Thorn was warm underneath me. I never got cold!"

Then suddenly, Selena got very quiet and stood on her tiptoes as she leaned in toward Nasuada in a conspiratorial way.

"And guess what, mother," she said in a low whisper.

"What?" replied Nasuada in the same tone.

"I jumped off Thorn and father caught me in the air." Selena's eyes got very large and then she giggled. "I jumped off. Father said I could."

Nasuada looked up to Murtagh with her eyebrows raised.

In a mischievous voice he said, "It's perfectly safe."

Rolling her eyes, Nasuada looked back to Selena. She wished he wouldn't do things like that. It was risky. But, then again, how many parents had magic at their command?

She still thought it was reckless.

With her eyebrows still raised, Nasuada asked, "And what else happened on your flight?"

"A bug hit father right in the shoulder. It made a disgusting _splat _noise! And it was big! The size of my hand!" Selena balled her fist and held it up before her face. Nasuada smiled. She doubted the bug was quite that big. But to Selena, they must have seemed large enough.

Then a loud growl emanated from Selena's stomach.

"Well, you sound like Thorn, now don't you?" said Nasuada, as Selena looked down at her rumbling belly. She giggled again.

"Thorn is much louder," she said with awe in her voice. "Much louder! And he can breathe fire."

"Very true. Now would you like something to eat, or do you have more you'd like to tell me?"

Selena sighed and then said, "I want to eat. I'm hungry."

After finishing their midday meal, Nasuada, Murtagh, Illian, and Selena retired to a room that had many soft chairs and a warm fire always glowing in the stone hearth. On the wall were three large mirrors. One where she could contact Eragon, another King Dathedr, and the last one contacted King Orik. Using an enchanted mirror was much easier than communicating through magicians and more personal as well.

After sitting a moment in silence, Nasuada heard Selena sigh and watched as her tiny head fall lax against the side of the giant chair she was sitting in. Without fail, Selena always fell asleep after a meal and whenever she could, it was always in the chair she sat in now. That chair was her favorite, and everyone knew it. Illian had tried to tease her a few times and sit on it before Selena was able to get there but, it always ended in Selena being very irritable and not enjoyable to be around. Therefore, it was a family rule; no one sat in that chair but Selena herself.

Nasuada heard a triumphant sound and then the clack of wood against stone. Murtagh sat across from Illian and between them was a game Illian had gotten from one of the shopkeepers in the marketplace of Ilirea. It required both players to plan many moves ahead and predict those of your opponent in order to stop them. Murtagh and Illian were both very good at the game and therefore it was a fair chance that either could win. It was Illian who had scored an advantage but, Nasuada saw his face darken into determination as Murtagh made his next move. Apparently, it had not been what Illian anticipated.

From the direction of the mirrors Nasuada heard Eragon's voice as he said, "Hello? Are you there Nasuada?"

Jumping up from her chair, Nasuada went over to stand in front of the mirror. In it she saw Eragon. His face hasn't changed in the slightest since she had last seen him. She knew it was because of his bond with Saphira but, it was strange looking into a face that never grew older.

"Yes, hello, Eragon! Is everything okay? Are you well?"

"I am well, as is Saphira. And you?"

"Yes. Much the same as when last we spoke." Three months ago Murtagh had contacted Eragon to inform him that the last set of Dragon Riders were on their way to Ellesmera.

Illian got up from his chair and joined Nasuada at the mirror.

"Uncle!" he said with excitement.

Eragon smiled broadly at Illian and said, "How many times have you beaten your father since last we talked?"

"Many more times than he cares to remember." replied Illian with his own smile. A half cough, half laugh escaped from Murtagh before he shouted his reply so Eragon could hear him, "Don't let him fool you, he has lost more than he cares to remember as well."

Winking at Illian, Eragon said, "I'm sure he has." Then turning his face toward Nasuada he said, "I wanted to let you know that I've sent two of the Dragon Riders who have finished their training with another set of eggs. They should arrive in Ilirea within the week."

"Good!" she replied. "It always fascinates me to see what kind of dragon hatches for whom. It's never who you expect."

"Now there is something I can't argue with," said Eragon with a shake of his head. "They definitely have a mind of their own."

Behind him, the top of a helm slipped across the bottom of the mirror as a dwarf made his way by. The sight amused Nasuada.

Looking down, Eragon listened as the dwarf said something in a low tone. After it finished, he looked back up to the mirror.

"Aruna tells me my students are ready and waiting for me. I will speak to you again soon."

"Goodbye, Uncle!" Illian said and waved his hand.

"Goodbye, all!"

And with that the mirror returned to it's natural polish. Nasuada returned to her chair and looked at Murtagh as he rubbed his hands together with fervor.

In a mock dramatic tone he said, "Now, master bragger, let us see one of your glorious wins."

Later that week, while Nasuada reviewed endless numbers on parchment detailing the supplies of the Empire, a page came and bowed before her desk.

"Your Majesty," he said. "There are two Dragon Riders who wish to speak with you."

"Bring them in, and then fetch Murtagh, please," she replied as she set aside the the scroll she was looking at.

The page bowed again before leaving the room. Within a few moments two Dragon Riders entered. One was a smaller female Urgal, Szel, with a golden scabbard at her side. Nasuada recalled she was the first of the Urgal race to have bonded with a dragon in the history of Alagaesia. It was an odd sight to see a grey Urgal on top a glittering golden dragon but also very savage.

It had taken so long for a dragon to hatch to an Urgal that the order of Dragon Riders had begun to worry it may never happen. When it finally had, there was relief among everyone and Nasuada had seen to it that there was a large feast to celebrate the event.

The other Rider was a young man who looked to be no older than twenty. Jarsha. The first time Nasuada met him, he had been a shy boy who delivered messages throughout Tronjheim. Now he walked with purpose and a level of confidence Nasuada thought suitable to a Dragon Rider. She knew that Saphira and Firnen's egg, a beautiful light blue color, had hatched for him about two years ago. It had been very stubborn, never hatching for anyone until, quite by accident, Jarsha walked past the elves who guarded it to deliver a message. _Particular. Much like Saphira, _thought Nasuada.

A medium sized box was carried by each of the Dragon Riders. As they drew near they set the boxes next to each other on the ground before continuing to walk until they stood in front of Nasuada's desk.

She rose and greeted them each in turn.

"How was your journey?" she asked.

"It passed quickly," said the Urgal Rider, Szel, in her gravely voice.

The door opened and Murtagh came into the room. "Ah, Szel, Jarsha! You brought the next set of eggs, eh?"

"Yes, ebrithil Murtagh," replied Jarsha with respect. "Ebrithil Eragon asked you to take one to the elves and one to the humans if they do not hatch for an Urgal."

There had only been one other Urgal who bonded with a dragon since Szel and it had become a habit to expose the dragon eggs to them first. Despite her previous doubts, the dragons hatched for the dwarves quite often. Most of the time they were smaller in stature but occasionally a larger dragon would find it's Rider in a dwarf as well. The sight of a small dwarf atop a dragon, of any size, still made Nasuada smile in amusement.

"Of course," replied Murtagh. "How are supplies at Aiedail?"

"We have more than enough, ebrithil," said Szel.

Once Eragon and Arya, along with the other elves, had settled on the island where the Dragon Rider's capital would be, they had decided to name the place Aiedail- the Morning Star. The name fit the place perfectly, they all agreed.

Szel turned to Nasuada and asked, "Do you have any missions for us, Your Majesty?"

After thinking for a moment, Nasuada said, "Not at this time." Since the Empire had begun functioning again there hadn't been much to worry about besides the day to day concerns of running a kingdom. And although Nasuada knew it probably wouldn't last forever, she enjoyed the security it brought.

"Then we have a request to fulfill from ebrithil Eragon," said Jarsha. "He wishes that we deliver some gifts to Roran and his family."

"Please go then. Only be on the watch for anything suspicious and if you need help contact Murtagh." replied Nasuada.

"Yes, Your Majesty," said both Szel and Jarsha as the bowed again. Then they turned to Murtagh and said, "Ebrithil."

With that, they walked out of the room and closed the door softly behind them.

Murtagh went to the two boxes and opened each one. The left box contained a white egg with silver veins. The right encased a slightly smaller brown egg.

"When will you leave?" asked Nasuada with interest.

"Most likely tomorrow morning," replied Murtagh, still examining the brown egg. "The elves will need to gather supplies and I would like another good meal before we start." With that he closed the chest and looked at Nasuada.

"And I have to show Illian and Selena these eggs, or I'll never be able to live in peace again."

Nasuada laughed and then said, "I'll go find them."

As she strode out of the room a sense of joy spread across her. Her life was good. Better than she could have ever asked for.

As she left the study, the page came toward her from around a corner and asked, "Your Majesty. Is Lord Murtagh still in the room?"

"Yes, he is," Nasuada replied kindly. With a slight bow the page said, "Thank you, Your Majesty," before making his way toward the study door. Nasuada continued down the hall with the intention of finding Illian and Selena, thinking the whole while.

The title Lord Murtagh still made Nasuada smile. It fit him well but then, it didn't. He was so happy and calm now that it seemed stiff for anyone to refer to him as a _Lord._

He had taken the title up almost fourteen years ago when Nasuada and he were married publicly in the city square. It had taken her days of careful thought to find a way to be able to marry him and also legally prohibit Murtagh from becoming an immortal ruler. Not that he desired the position, but it had to be done for the satisfaction of her subjects. Thus, the title Lord_. _Murtagh wouldn't be King unless she died within the next six years, when Illian would still be underage, and even then, only for a short time.

_My most diplomatic and best move, _she thought with pride.

In the distance Nasuada could hear Illian and Selena playing. From the sounds of it, they were fighting an epic battle of good and evil with the evil side, apparently, coming to a glorious end.

As she peeked her head into the room she was also met with a glorious mess. All the toys were outside the toy chest and both Illian and Selena had blankets draped over their shoulders, an imitation of a magnificent cape.

"Two more dragon eggs came from Uncle Eragon today," she said.

Instantly the two children dropped the wooden swords in their hands and ran to her. "What color are they?" squealed Selena before she tripped on a toy in her path. She landed with a thud but continued to look at Nasuada with interest.

Walking over to where Selena landed, Nasuada put her hand out and said, "Come and see."


	12. Aiedail

Sweat covered Eragon's face. He looked down at the newest dwarf Rider, Hefthyn, and crouched lower to the ground.

Fighting with a dwarf was much different than an elf or human. Nothing was quite like it and to some degree the dwarf had an advantage Eragon did not. Protecting one's legs was harder than it sounded and axes were awkward to parry.

Hefthyn barreled forward, his ax swinging through the air in a not-so-graceful arc. His cold-metal-steel-blade jarred Brisingr as it made contact, creating a arm-numbing-shock.

Eragon shook as he pulled the blue sword away from the dwarf and jabbed at the neck region. With all the time he spent with Saphira he was beginning to think like her as well. He knew it would happen more often as their bond strengthened but, it was strange to think in such a different way.

"Try to use less force and more grace," said Eragon, dogging a thrust to his knee. "You'll expend all your energy and have none left when you need it."

Hefthyn looked up at him and the blade of his ax plummeted into the ground. With a scowl, he looked down at his ax before prying it out and wiping it clean of the soft, dark earth.

"But you move so fast, ebrithil."

Grace was not one of Hefthyn's greater qualities, but that was understandable.

"Speed isn't the goal, hitting your target is. Now let us try this again."

A moan emanated from somewhere in the sparring grounds. Eragon looked up to see the human rider, Kont, sitting on the ground clutching his ankle with both hands. Blodhgarm knelt beside him and inspected the ankle before placing one of his fur covered paw onto the skin. Eragon heard him mutter "_Waise heill_." To their right two elves sparred with such speed and fury that it made Eragon glad he didn't have to defend himself against either of them at the moment.

Turning back to Hefthyn, Eragon said, "Are you ready?"

Hefthyn nodded vigorously.

"Try to move at just the right speed. Not to fast, not to slow."

They sparred for many more minutes and the sweat on Eragon's face began to blur his vision. With a complex twist of his wrist Eragon knocked Hefthyn's ax from his hand and took the opportunity to wipe his face. The sun was high over head and made everything stifling hot. Even the soft grass beneath his feet looked as if it might wilt in the sunlight.

When Hefthyn returned with his ax in hand he situated himself before Eragon and tried a new approach. Instead of barreling toward him with all his might, he feinted to the left before attempting to hack at Eragon's right foot.

Knowing that Hefthyn was attempting a new approach, Eragon jumped five feet to his left before racing back to the dwarf. As Hefthyn tried to bring his ax up to protect himself, Eragon rested Brisingr on to his collarbone.

The maneuver made the dwarf stop dead in his tracks. Still as a statue, Hefthyn looked at the blade and then into Eragon's eyes. Frustration, weariness, and stubbornness clouded his dark brown eyes. His beard seemed to stand on end and it amused Eragon, for he had often seen this when a dwarf was defeated and didn't want to admit it.

Leaving the blade sitting where it was for a moment longer, Eragon said, "You have yet to learn patience."

Then he removed Brisingr and sheathed it. Hefthyn followed suit and put his ax firmly into his belt and looked at Eragon expectantly.

"Let's go find a drink and then practice magic." He turned and left the sparring grounds, making his way toward the large hall, Mor'ranr, that stood slightly on a hill to the northeast of where they were. With quick steps Hefthyn followed and came to walk by Eragon's side. Behind them the sound of clashing swords still rang in the air and occasionally a dull thud would accent the general din.

Looking down to meet his eyes, Eragon asked, "Are you listening to the thoughts of your dragon?"

Hefthyn's dragon, Hljodhr, was a small white male who was very calm and composed. Hardly anything upset him and he was a quick learner. In the back of his mind he could hear Saphira teaching Hljodhr of the finer arts of combat.

"No, ebrithil," replied Hefthyn with evident shame.

"It will become easier as you grow older. But try harder to listen and ask Hljodhr what he learned tonight."

"Yes, ebrithil."

As they reached the stairs which lead to the main doors of Mor'ranr, Eragon said, "What did Hljodhr just learn?" It was imperative that Hefthyn learn to listen to his dragon as well as maintain knowledge of his surroundings.

Hefthyn tensed, thought for a moment, and then said, "Ebrithil Saphira was telling him about a special tactic to use when cornered."

This was true but, not entirely. Eragon had heard Saphira discussing different tactics to use if a wing was broken and you were cornered in a large area. Hefthyn would need to practice listening but, that was to be expected.

"Better, but continue to practice," Eragon replied and he pulled one of the giant wooden doors open, allowing Hefthyn to enter before him.

As soon as the stocky dwarf was over the threshold Eragon followed. The room just inside was ornate and beautiful. The same tedious care had been taken to perfect it, as with all of Mor'ranr. Above all else, the elves valued beauty and insisted on making the Rider's main hall a thing equal to a legend.

Off to the left was a wooden door inlaid with brilliant colors through which Eragon and Hefthyn passed to enter into a room used for cooking the meals.

A giant stone oven ruled a corner and a long rectangular table stood in the center. Grabbing a water skin from a hook in the wall, Eragon poured the contents into two medium sized stone mugs. After muttering a clever spell over one of the mugs that would make Hefthyn ill if not detected, Eragon handed it down to the stocky dwarf.

In a questioning tone Eragon asked, "Is this safe to drink?"

Hefthyn took the mug and sniffed it. He looked back up at and Eragon and then back down at the mug. Eragon heard him whisper a few spells. After a moment, Hefthyn said, "It seems so, ebrithil."

"Are you sure? Perhaps you should try a few more times."

Looking back at the mug, Hefthyn frowned and tried three different alternatives to his previous spells. Finally a triumphant look shown through the dwarves beard. "I found your spell, ebrithil."

"Good," replied Eragon, and he took a swig of the water. It cooled his throat and he immediately felt better. "Now, what if you didn't know I had cast a spell. Would it have been wise to drink it even after testing the liquid with a few spells?"

"I suppose I could ward myself against any sort of poison," answered Hefthyn.

Eragon nodded his head before saying, "In a way you are right. But I believe it would be beneficial if you learn more words in the ancient language."

From the time a new Rider arrived in Aiedail they were expected to speak only in the ancient language. Murtagh introduced the new Riders to basic sentence construction before they left Alagaesia but, there was always much more for them to learn.

For the next hour Hefthyn and Eragon sat in the cooking room, sipping their water, and discussing new words and their meanings. If Hefthyn excelled in anything, it was learning the ancient language. He could remember large amounts of new words and had become fluent in the language in less than three months after coming to Aiedail. But he often lacked in the imagination of creating unique spells and that made it important that he learn as many words as he could.

Once they were finished, Eragon sent Hefthyn to meditate in a quiet grove Eragon had found several miles from Mor'ranr. He often went there if he was feeling stressed and it had proven an excellent place for new Riders to perfect their skills as well.

After Hefthyn left the cooking room Eragon made his way to the west wing of Mor'ranr and found Arya sitting with Kont, helping him read through the _Lay of Umhodan_. Beside them were other scrolls, piled and laying open at various places. Kont had come to Aiedail lest than a month ago and still needed much help to understand the ancient language.

As he entered the room Arya looked up at him and smiled before saying "Eragon."

With respect in his voice, Kont added a quiet "Ebrithil."

Eragon inclined his head to him and turned to Arya. "Have you heard from Murtagh if Jarsha and Szel arrived in Ilirea safely?"

With a shake of her head Arya said, "No, he hasn't."

"I'll contact him and ask if he's seen them yet."

After acknowledging Eragon's comment, Arya turned back to Kont and began explaining the meaning of another word.

Eragon walked to the south wing where an enchanted mirror sat in his quarters, connected to Ilirea. The south wing of Mor'ranr was Eragon's favorite as it had an entire room dedicated to the history of Alagaesia and Riders specifically. It had been the special project of Yaela, one of the elves who had been Eragon's body guard during the war and accompanied him to Aiedail. The elf had spent countless hours before the room was finished. The colors she had created with magic were so vivid and beautiful that it took your breath away when you saw it. Even after multiple viewings.

When he reached his room, Eragon sat at the edge of his four poster bed and brushed the mirror off before muttering the spell that would contact the capital of his homeland.

Several hours later Eragon sat with Arya looking at the stars on the roof of Mor'ranr. He had contacted Murtagh earlier and learned that Jarsha and Szel arrived in Ilirea only a few hours earlier. They delivered the eggs to Murtagh and then left for the Spine soon after to give Roran the gifts Eragon sent with them. They spent a few moments more discussing Murtagh's plans for the new eggs and some questions he had regarding the progress of Eragon's students.

Eragon sighed with contentment. The night was beautiful and the stars were much brighter out in the middle of the ocean. He loved this island as much as he loved Alagaesia and it was his home now. Glancing at Arya, Eragon could see that she too enjoyed this place.

To their right sat Saphira and Firnen, snuggled together and sleeping deeply. Both dragons were much larger than they had been eighteen years ago and Saphira was very proud of this fact.

They sat there many more minutes, watching the stars dance across the sky. Eragon moved closer to Arya and took her small hand in his own. She looked at him with kindness, and something else.

_Love?_

Yes, it was love.


End file.
